Wallace and Eva, the two elder children, behaved with precision and did not open their lips, save for the reception of food. Wynne was discouraged on the few occasions he spoke, and was the recipient of injunctions not to “crumble his bread,” and to “sit up properly.” These recurred with a clockwork regularity that deprived them of the essence of command. The result was to make Clem feel very dejected and forlorn. He said good-bye on the doorstep and walked, alone as he thought, to the front gate. Arrived there he said in a very heartfelt manner: “God! What a night!” and was not a little taken aback when his brother, who had followed, in soft shoes, demanded: “I beg your pardon?” Clem recovered himself a little too intensely. “All these damn stars,” he replied, with a broad gesture. “H’m!” said Mr. Rendall. Then: “I hope you haven’t been putting ideas into that boy’s head, Clem.” “They are there already,” came the response. “Take care of them, Robert.” He jumped into the cab and drove away. IX A fall of rain and a little sunshine make a magic difference to a garden bed. The petals of flowers unfold—colours clear and intensify—white buds glisten beneath their tight-drawn casings. “We can do with a lot of this,” the flowers seemed to say. “Treat us aright and there is no limit to our beauty and fragrance.” But our English climate is not always amenable. Sometimes it replies through the mouth of a nipping norther, or by the hard, white hands of frost, and down go the flowers, one by one, till only the sturdiest remain standing. It would be no exaggeration to say that Wynne Rendall’s soul had been opened out, in that one day with his uncle, from forty-five to ninety degrees. So many things he had doubted had been made sure, and so many fears had been swept aside, to be replaced by finer understandings. Through Uncle Clem the world had become a new place for him. It was no longer a public park, with railings and finger-boards pointing the directions in which one might or might not proceed. He did not quite know what sort of place it had become, but he was radiantly confident of glorious possibilities. Clearly it would be the duty of all who had eyes to see, and ears to hear, to perform something in praise of this marvellous planet, and the wonderful people (_vide_ Uncle Clem) who walked upon it. He, Wynne, would do something—he felt the immediate need to do something—he would do something great. People, beholding what he had done, would exclaim, “This is marvellous! Why have we not been shown these wonders before?” Then they would feel for him the same admiration he felt for Uncle Clem.