But enough of thee and thy songs! Those times passed rapidly; with Ab Gwilym in my hand, I was in the midst of enchanted ground, in which I experienced sensations akin to those I had felt of yore whilst spelling my way through the wonderful book—the delight of my childhood. I say akin, for perhaps only once in our lives do we experience unmixed wonder and delight; and these I had already known. CHAPTER TWENTY SILVER GREY—GOOD WORD FOR EVERYBODY—A REMARKABLE YOUTH—THE ARCHDEACON—READING THE BIBLE ‘I am afraid that I have not acted very wisely in putting this boy of ours to the law,’ said my father to my mother, as they sat together one summer evening in their little garden, beneath the shade of some tall poplars. Yes, there sat my father in the garden chair which leaned against the wall of his quiet home, the haven in which he had sought rest; and, praise be to God, found it, after many a year of poorly-requited toil; there he sat, with locks of silver grey which set off so nobly his fine bold but benevolent face, his faithful consort at his side, and his trusty dog at his feet—an eccentric animal of the genuine regimental breed, who, born amongst red coats, had not yet become reconciled to those of any other hue, barking and tearing at them when they drew near the door, but testifying his fond reminiscence of the former by hospitable waggings of the tail whenever a uniform made its appearance—at present a very unfrequent occurrence. ‘I am afraid I have not done right in putting him to the law,’ said my father, resting his chin upon his gold-headed bamboo cane. ‘Why, what makes you think so?’ said my mother.