He did not observe that, as the autumn crept on, a shadow gathered on
Humility's face. One Sunday the old Squire did not come to church;
and again on the next Wednesday, at the harvest festival, Honoria sat
alone in the Tredinnis pew. The shadow was on his mother's face as
he chatted about this on their way home to the Parsonage; but the boy
did not perceive it. He loved his parents, but their lives lay
outside his own, and their sayings and doings passed him like a vain
show. He walked in the separate world of childhood, and it seemed an
enormous world yet, though a few weeks were to bring him abruptly to
the end of it.
But just before he came to the precipice he was given a glimpse of
the real world--and of a world beyond that, far more splendid and
romantic than any region of his dreams.
The children had no lessons during Christmas, or for three weeks
after. On the last morning before the holidays George brought a
letter for Mr. Raymond, who read it, considered for a while, and laid
it among his papers.
"It's an invitation," George announced in a whisper. "I wonder if
he'll let you come."
"Where?" whispered Taffy.
"Up to Plymouth--to the Pantomime."
"What's that?"
"Oh--clowns, and girls dressed up like boys, and policemen on slides,
and that sort of thing."
Taffy sat bewildered. He vaguely remembered Plymouth as a mass of
roofs seen from the train, as it drew up for a minute or two on a
high bridge.
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