before the lamps are lit, and I was there, a wretched little

figure, weeping aloud, for all that I could do to restrain myself,

and I was weeping because I could not return to my dear

play-fellows who had called after me, 'Come back to us! Come back

to us soon!' I was there. This was no page in a book, but harsh

reality; that enchanted place and the restraining hand of the grave

mother at whose knee I stood had gone--whither have they gone?"

He halted again, and remained for a time, staring into the fire.

Oh! the wretchedness of that return!" he murmured.

Well?" I said after a minute or so.

Poor little wretch I was--brought back to this grey world

again! As I realised the fulness of what had happened to me, I

gave way to quite ungovernable grief. And the shame and

humiliation of that public weeping and my disgraceful homecoming

remain with me still. I see again the benevolent-looking old

gentleman in gold spectacles who stopped and spoke to me--prodding

me first with his umbrella. 'Poor little chap,' said he; 'and are

you lost then?'--and me a London boy of five and more! And he must

needs bring in a kindly young policeman and make a crowd of me, and

so march me home. Sobbing, conspicuous and frightened, I came from

the enchanted garden to the steps of my father's house.

The Door in the Wall And Other Stories