For a moment this exciting adventure carried him away, and he even listened for a minute or two to Mary, who, seizing her opportunity, began hurriedly: “Once upon a time there lived a sailor, very thin, and he never washed, and he had a dog and a violin--” But soon he remembered, and sighed and said: “Oh, bother, Mary!” and then walked on by himself. And still, all through that hot afternoon, when even the Rope Walk did not offer any shade, and when the Pol was of so clear a colour that you could see trout and emerald stones and golden sand as under glass, and when Hamlet was compelled to run ahead and find a piece of shade and lie there stretched, panting, with his tongue out, until they came up to him--even all these signs of a true and marvellous summer did not relieve Jeremy of his burden. Something horrible was going to happen. He knew it with such certainty that he wondered how Mary and Helen could be so gaily light-hearted, and despised them for their carelessness. This was connected in some way with the hot weather; he felt as though, were a cold breeze suddenly to come, and rain to fall, he would be happy again. There had been once a boy, older than he, called Jimmy Bain, a fat, plump boy, who had lived next door to the Coles. Whenever he had the opportunity he bullied Jeremy, pinching his arms, putting pins into his legs, and shouting suddenly into his ears. Jeremy, who had feared Johnny Bain, had always “felt” the stout youth's arrival before he appeared. The sky had seemed to darken, the air to thicken, the birds to gather in the “rooky” wood. He had trembled and shaken, his teeth had chattered and his throat grown dry for no reason at all. As he had once felt about Johnny Bain so now he felt about life in general. Something horrible was going to happen.... Something to do with Mother.... As he came up the road to their house his heart beat so that he could not hear his own steps. II They entered the house, and at once even Mary, preoccupied as she was with her story about the sailor, noticed that something was wrong. “Rose! Rose!” she called out loudly. “Hush!” said Miss Jones. “You must be quiet, dear.” “Why?” said Mary. “I want Rose to--” “Your mother isn't at all well, dear. I--” And she was interrupted by Rose, who, coming suddenly downstairs, with a face very different from her usual cheerful one, said something to Miss Jones in a low voice. Miss Jones gave a little cry: “So soon?... A girl....” And then added: “How is she?” Then Rose said something more, which the children could not catch, and vanished. “Very quietly, children,” said Miss Jones, in a voice that trembled; “and you mustn't leave the schoolroom till I tell you. Your mother--” She broke off as though she were afraid of showing emotion. “What is it?” said Jeremy in a voice that seemed new to them all--older, more resolute, strangely challenging for so small a boy.