A Prisoner in Fairyland (The Book That 'Uncle Paul' Wrote)

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Harp, S. T

imself why he was going. For a sentimental journey was hardly in his line, it seemed. But no satisfactory answ

th. But the part of him that knew it had lain so long in abeyance that only a whisper flitted across his mind as he sat looking out of the carriage window at the fields round Lee and

. There was Barlow-big, bony chap who stammered, bringing his words out with a kind of whistling sneeze. Barlow had given him his first thrashing for copying his stammer. There was young Watson, who funked at football and sneaked to a master about a midnight supper. He stole pocket-money, too, and was expelled. Then he caught a glimpse of another fellow with sly face and laughing eyes; the name had vanished, but he was the boy who put jalap in the music-master's coffee, and received a penny from five or six ot

ght to have lived for ever. His niche in the Temple of Fame was sure. One evening he had called in full uniform at the house and asked to see Master Henry Rogers, the boy who had got out 'WHILE-THE- TRAIN-WAS-STILL-

obbed cane the office clerks had given him when he left the City. Leisurely, without a touch of fear, he passed the Water Works, where the huge iron crank of the shaft rose and fell with ominous thunder against the sky. It had once been part of that awful hidden Engine which moved the world. To go near it was instant death, and he al

ne upon another, followed by great green moons, and hosts of stars that came twinkling across barred windows to his very bedside ... that grand old Net of Stars he made so cunningly. Cornhill and Lombard Street flashe

wing among the elms across the churchyard, and pigeons wheeled and fluttered about the grey square tower. The wind, the

the station. The hill, once topped, and the churchyard left behind, he entered the world of fields and little copses. It was just like going through a gateway. It was a Gateway. The road sloped gently down

a bent iron railing that divided it to keep the cows from crossing. Formerly, of course, that railing had been put to prevent children drowning in its bottomless depths; all ponds had been bottomless then, and the weeds had spread t

ich was the reality and which the dream. But his effort was not particularly successful, and he came to no conclusion. Those years of strenuous business life were like a few weeks, yet their golden results were in his pockets. Those years of childhood had condensed into a jumble of sunny hours, yet their golden harvest

ied points from going rotten in this particular soil. There was a surge of practical considerations, but quickly fading. The last one was stirred by the dust of a leisurely butcher's cart. He had visions of a paste for motor-roads, or something to lay dust ... but, before the dust had settled again through the sunshine about his feet, or the rumble of the cart died away into distance, the thought vanished like a nightmare in the dawn. It ran away over the switchback of the years, uphill to Midsummer, downhill to Christmas, jumping a di

s of anticipation thus, and, besides, he wished to see if the place was occupied or empty. It looked unkempt rather, the gardens somewhat neglected, and yet there hung an air of occupancy about it all. He had heard the house had changed hands

pied?' he asked abruptly of an old gen

n a remarkable attitude. He was standing on tiptoe upon the parapet of brick, pull

th a jump, a little breathless. He felt rather foolish. He was glad the stranger was not Mi

here smiling without a word as he handed him the fal

ery kind, sir,' and he took the hat and brushed the dust off.

not mention it--' adding after a second's pause, to

mething in the charming, peace-

this is a pleasure, indeed. Who ever would have thought it?' he added with delicious ambiguity. He sei

his beautiful, kindly smile that even false quantities had never been able to spoil. 'We've not forgotten you as you've

s, details of fun and mischief rained upon him like flowers in a sudden wind of spring. The voice and face of his old tutor bridged the years like magic. Time had s

with them to the lodge. It won't take five minutes. And then you must come up to the Vicarage for tea-or dinner if you're kept-and stay th

-toed boots, his shoulders hardly more bent than when his mischievous pupil had called every morning with

aughter-you r

of danger in the cedar branches-when he put his love into a single eloquent phrase: 'You silly ass!' then cast her adrift for ever because she said 'Thanks

rowded thi

all. Like everything else, he had shrunk, of course-like road and station-master and water-works. He had almost said, 'You, too, have shrunk'-but otherwise was the same old fluffy personality that no doubt still got sadly muddled in his sermons, gave out wrong hymns, and spent his entire worldly substance

you, I'll be bound.' Both seemed significant. They hummed and murmured throug