He would have neither. He loved blackberry. Still more he loved strawberry. But he would have neither. Because Aunt Amy had asked him. His eye was on Hamlet, who was sulking by the door. “I do hope, dear, that you’re not going to have that dog with you everywhere again. All the time you were away he was in the kitchen. Very happy there, I believe.” Jeremy said nothing. Aunt Amy, who was, I think, to be applauded for her efforts with a sulky boy, bravely persevered. “Do tell us, dear, about this last time at school. We are all so eager to know. Was it cricket or football, dear, and how did your work go?” He mumbled something, blushing to the eyes as he caught his sister Helen’s ironical supercilious glance. “I hope your master was pleased with you, dear.” He burst out: “I was whacked twice.” Aunt Amy sighed. “The less about that, dear, the better. We want to know what you did well!” How strange that in the train he had eagerly desired this moment—and now he had nothing to say. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “There was a chap called Bates got bunked for stealing.” Aunt Amy sighed again. “Yes, Helen dear, you can go if you’ve really finished. Wipe your mouth, Mary.” Hamlet was watching his master. More than ever now were recollections stealing upon him. His master was unhappy, just as he used to be unhappy. He was hating that dark, strange-smelling animal (smelling of soap, the smell that Hamlet most avoided) whom Hamlet also hated. Yes, everything was returning. . . . V Later on they were down in the drawing-room. Mrs. Cole was reading “The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest,” the children grouped about her feet. Jeremy, his rough bullet head against his mother’s dress, was almost asleep. He had had a long, exhausting day; he was happy at last, seeing the colours fold and unfold before his eyes. That other world that was sometimes so strangely close to him mingled with the world of facts—now he was racing in the wagonette, leaning over and shouting triumphantly against those left behind; now the path changed to a pool of gold, and out of it a bronze tower rose solemn to heaven, straight and tall against the blue sky, and the windows of the tower opened and music sounded, and his mother’s voice came back to him like the sudden rushing of the train, and he saw Mary’s spectacles and the flickering fire and Helen’s gleaming shoes. For the moment he had forgotten Hamlet. The dog lay near the door. It opened, and Aunt Amy came in.