"Don't 'ee mention it. Not on any account." He waved his hand
magnanimously and trudged off toward Tredinnis.
Taffy waited until he disappeared behind the first sand-hill, and broke
the seal. A slip of parchment lay inside the envelope.
"_This is to certify_——"
He had paused! He pulled off his cap and waved it round his head. And
once more the rabbits popped back into their burrows.
_Toot—toot—toot!_—It was that diabolical postman. He had fetched a
circuit round the sand-hill, and was peeping round the north side of it
and grinning as he blew.
Taffy set off running, and never stopped until he reached the Parsonage
and burst into the kitchen.
"Mother—it's all right! I've passed!"
* * * * *
Somebody was knocking at the door. Taffy jumped up from his knees and
Humility made the lap of her apron smooth.
"May I come in?" asked Honoria, and pushed the door open. She stepped
into the middle of the kitchen and dropped Taffy an elaborate courtesy.
"A thousand congratulations, sir!"
"Why, how did you know?"
"Well, I met the postman: and I looked in through the window before
knocking."
Taffy bit his lip. "People seem to be taking a deal of interest in us,
all of a sudden," he said to his mother. Humility looked distressed,
uncomfortable. Honoria ignored the snub. "I am starting for Carwithiel
to-day," she said, "for a week's visit; and thought I would look in—after
hearing what the postman told me—and pay my compliments."
She talked for a minute or two on matters of no importance; asked after
old Mrs. Venning's health; and left, turning at the door to give Humility
a cheerful little nod.
"Taffy, you ought not to have spoken so." Humility's eyes were tearful.
Taffy's conscience was already accusing him. He snatched up his cap and
ran out.
"Miss Honoria!"
She did not turn.
"Miss Honoria—I am sorry." He overtook her, but she turned her face
away. "Forgive me——"
She halted, and after a moment looked him in the eyes. He saw then that
she had been crying.
"The first time I came to see you, _he_ whipped me," she said slowly.
"I am sorry; please——"
"Taffy——"
"Miss Honoria."
"I said—Taffy."
"Honoria, then."
"Do you know what it is to feel lonely, here?"
Taffy remembered the afternoons when he had roamed the sand-hills longing
for George's company. "Why, yes," said he; "it used to be always lonely."
"I think we have been the loneliest children in the whole world—you and
I and George; only George didn't feel it in the same way. And now it's
coming to an end with you. You are going up to Oxford, and soon you will
have heaps of friends. Can you not understand? Suppose there were two
prisoners, alone in the same prison, but shut in different cells; and
one heard that the other's release had come. He would feel—would he
not?—that now he was going to be lonelier than ever. And yet he might
be glad of the other's liberty, and if the chance were given, might be
the happier for shaking hands with the other and wishing him joy."
Taffy had never heard her speak at all like this.
"But you are going over to Carwithiel, and George is famous company."
"I am going over to Carwithiel because I hate Tredinnis. I hate every
stone of it, and will sell the place as soon as ever I come of age. And
George is the best fellow in the world. Some day I shall marry him (Oh,
it's all arranged!) and we shall live at Carwithiel and be quite happy;
for I like him, and he likes people to be happy. And we shall talk of
you. Being out of the world ourselves, we shall talk of you, and the
great things you are going to do, and the great things you are doing. We
shall say to each other, 'It's all very well for the world to be proud
of him, but we have the best right; for we grew up with him and know
the stories he used to tell us, and when the time came for his going,
it was we who waved from the door'——"
"Honoria——"
"But there is one thing you haven't told; and you shall now, if you care
to—about your examination and what you did at Oxford."
So he sat down beside her on a sand-hill and told her; about the long
low-ceiled room in the quadrangle of the Bodleian, the old marbles which
lined the walls, the examiner at the blue-baize table, and the little
deal tables (all scribbled over with names and dates and verses and
ribald remarks) at which the candidates wrote; also of the _viva voce_
examination in the ante-chamber of the Convocation House. He told it
all as if it were the great event which he honestly felt it to be.
"And the others," said she: "those who were writing around you, and the
examiner—how did you feel toward them?"