It was in this way that he became during
certain months of 1889 and 1890 and '91 a resident in the family of the
Rev. William Lasher, Vicar of Clinton St. Mary, that large rambling
village on the edge of Roche St. Mary Moor in South Glebeshire.
He spent there the two Christmases of 1890 and 1891 (when he was ten
and eleven years of age), and it is with the second of these that the
following incident, and indeed the whole of this book, has to do. Hugh
Seymour could not, at the period of which I write, be called an
attractive child; he was not even "interesting" or "unusual." He was
very minutely made, with bones so brittle that it seemed that, at any
moment, he might crack and splinter into sharp little pieces; and I am
afraid that no one would have minded very greatly had this occurred. But
although, he was so thin his face had a white and overhanging
appearance, his cheeks being pale and puffy and his under-lip jutted
forward in front of projecting teeth--he was known as the "White Rabbit"
by his schoolfellows. He was not, however, so ugly as this appearance
would apparently convey, for his large, grey eyes, soft and even, at
times agreeably humorous, were pleasant and cheerful.
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