But you'll find, as you grow older, there are
many people who won't believe you. And there's this, too. The more you
live in your head, dreaming and seeing things that aren't there, the
less you'll see the things that _are_ there. You'll always be tumbling
over things. You'll never get on. You'll never be a success."
"Never mind," said Hugh, "it doesn't matter much what you say now,
you're only talking 'for my good' like Mr. Lasher. I don't care, I heard
what you said yesterday, and it's made all the difference. I'll come and
stay with you."
"Well, so you shall," said Mr. Pidgen. "I can't help it. You shall come
as often as you like. Upon my soul, I'm younger to-day than I've felt
for a long time. We'll go to the pantomime together if you aren't too
old for it. I'll manage to ruin you all right. What's that shining?" He
pointed in front of him.
They had come to a rise in the Polwint Road. To their right, running to
the very foot of their path, was the moor. It stretched away, like a
cloud, vague and indeterminate to the horizon. To their left a dark
brown field rose in an ascending wave to a ridge that cut the sky, now
crocus-coloured.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40