himself sitting under the eave of a barn close to a chalet where all was
dark and quiet; and down below him the moon-whitened valley village--its
roofs and spires and little glamorous unreal lights.

In his evening suit, his dark ruffled hair uncovered, he would have made
a quaint spectacle for the owners of that chalet, if they had chanced
to see him seated on the hay-strewn boards against their barn, staring
before him with such wistful rapture. But they were folk to whom sleep
was precious....

And now it was all snatched away from him, relegated to some immensely
far-off future. Would it indeed be possible to get his guardian to ask
them down to Hayle? And would they really come? His tutor would surely
never care to visit a place right away in the country--far from books
and everything! He frowned, thinking of his tutor, but it was with
perplexity--no other feeling. And yet, if he could not have them down
there, how could he wait the two whole months till next term began! So
went his thoughts, round and round, while the horses jogged, dragging
him further and further from her.

It was better in the train; the distraction of all the strange crowd of
foreigners, the interest of new faces and new country; and then sleep--a
long night of it, snoozed up in his corner, thoroughly fagged out. And
next day more new country, more new faces; and slowly, his mood changing
from ache and bewilderment to a sense of something promised, delightful
to look forward to. Then Calais at last, and a night-crossing in a wet
little steamer, a summer gale blowing spray in his face, waves leaping
white in a black sea, and the wild sound of the wind. On again to
London, the early drive across the town, still sleepy in August haze; an
English breakfast--porridge, chops, marmalade. And, at last, the train