Under the full noonday sun the fire was pale and so unreal, weak, and sickly, that one was almost ashamed to look at it. But as the afternoon passed, it again gathered strength, and with the faint, dusky evening it was a giant once more.
“You come along,” it said to Jeremy. “Come along! Come along!”
“I'm going to Mr. Somerset's, Mother,” he said, putting two exercise books and a very new and shining blue Latin book together.
“Are you, dear? I suppose you're safe?” Mrs. Cole asked, looking through the drawing-room window.
“Oh, it's all right,” said Jeremy
“Well, I think it is,” said Mrs. Cole. “The street seems quite empty. Don't speak to any odd-looking men, will you?”
“Oh, that's all right,” he said again.
He walked down Orange Street, his books under his arm, the 3s. 3 1/2d. in his pocket. The street was quite deserted, swimming in a cold, pale light; the trees, the houses, the church, the garden-walls, sharp and black; the street, dim and precipitous, tumbling forward into the blue, whence lights, one, two, three, now a little bunch together, came pricking out.
The old woman opened the door when he rang Mr. Somerset's bell.
“Master's been called away,” she said in her croaking voice. “A burial. 'E 'adn't time to let you know. 'Tell the little gen'l'man,' 'e said, 'I'm sorry.'”