It only
depends upon the point of view."
"So it does," said Mr. Pidgen, taking his hat off, "you were very fine,
I shan't forget."
VI
They stood there in silence for a time....
VII
At last they turned back and walked slowly home, the intimacy of their
new friendship growing with their silence. Hugh was happier than he had
ever been before. Behind the quiet evening light he saw wonderful
prospects, a new life in which he might dream as he pleased, a new
friend to whom he might tell these dreams, a new confidence in his own
power....
But it was not to be.
That very night Mr. Pidgen died, very peacefully, in his sleep, from
heart failure. He had had, as he had himself said, a happy life.
VIII
Years passed and Hugh Seymour grew up. I do not wish here to say much
more about him. It happened that when he was twenty-four his work
compelled him to live in that Square in London known as March Square (it
will be very carefully described in a minute). Here he lived for five
years, and, during that time, he was happy enough to gain the intimacy
and confidence of some of the children who played in the Gardens there.
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