The ponds were silvered into a sheet of ice, so thin that
the water showed dark beneath it. All the trees were rimmed with
hoar-frost.
On Christmas afternoon, when three o'clock had just struck from the
church tower, Hugh and Mr. Pidgen met, as though by some conspirator's
agreement, by the garden gate. They had said nothing to one another and
yet there they were; they both glanced anxiously back at the house and
then Mr. Pidgen said:
"Suppose we take a walk."
"Thank you very much," said Hugh. "Tea isn't till half-past four."
"Very well, then, suppose you lead the way." They walked a little, and
then Hugh said: "I was there yesterday, in the study, when you talked
all that about your books, and everything." The words came from him in
little breathless gusts because he was excited.
Mr. Pidgen stopped and looked upon him. "Thunder and sunshine! You don't
say so! What under heaven were you doing?"
"I was reading, and you came in and then I was interested."
"Well?"
Hugh dropped his voice.
"I understood all that you meant. I'd like to read your books if I may.
We haven't any in the house.
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