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the family and gone to study Art in Paris。 He had starved and
starved； was at death's door； was dragged home； and there suddenly
had relapsed into Polchester； lived first on his father； then on his
brother…in…law； painted about the town； painted； made cynical
remarks about the Polcastrians； painted； made blasphemous remarks
about the bishop； the dean and all the canons； painted； and refused
to leave his brother…in…law's house。 He was a scandal； of course； he
was fat； untidy； wore a blue tam…o'…shanter when he was 〃out；〃 and
sometimes went down Orange Street in carpet slippers。
He was a scandal； but what are you to do if a relative is obstinate
and refuses to go？ At least make him shave； say the wives of the
canons。 But no one had ever made Samuel Trefusis do anything that he
did not want to do。 He was sometimes not shaved for three whole days
and nights。 At any rate； there he is。 It is of no use saying that he
does not exist； as many of the Close ladies try to do。 And at least
he does not paint strange women； he prefers flowers and cows and the
Polchester woods； although anything less like cows； flowers and
woods； Mrs。 Sampson； wife of the Dean； who once had a water…colour
in the Academy； says she has never seen。 Samuel Trefusis is a
failure； and； what is truly awful； he does not mind； nobody buys his
pictures and he does not care； and； worst taste of all； he laughs at
his relations； although he lives on them。 Nothing further need be
said。
To Helen； Mary and Jeremy he had always been a fascinating object；
although they realised； with that sharp worldly wisdom to be found
in all infants of tender years； that he was a failure； a dirty man；
and disliked children。 He very rarely spoke to them； was once quite
wildly enraged when Mary was discovered licking his paints。 （It was
the paints he seemed anxious about； not in the least the poor little
thing's health； as his sister Amy said）； and had publicly been heard
to say that his brother…in…law had only got the children he
deserved。
Nevertheless Jeremy had always been interested in him。 He liked his
fat round shape； his rough； untidy grey hair； his scarlet slippers；
his blue tam…o'…shanter； the smudges of paint sometimes to be
discovered on his cheeks； and the jingling noises he made in his
pocket with his money。 He was certainly more fun than Aunt Amy。
There； then； they all were with their presents and their birthday
faces。
〃Shall I undo them for you； darling？〃 of course said Aunt Amy。
Jeremy shook his head （he did not say what he thought of her） and
continued to tug at the string。 He was given a large pair of
scissors。 He received （from Father） a silver watch； （from Mother） a
paint…box； a dark blue and gold prayer book with a thick squashy
leather cover （from Aunt Amy）。
He was in an ecstasy。 How he had longed for a watch； just such a
turnip…shaped one； and a paint…box。 What colours he could make！ Even
Aunt Amy's prayer book was something； with its squashy cover and
silk marker （only why did Aunt Amy never give him anything
sensible？）。 He stood there； his face flushed； his eyes sparkling；
the watch in one hand and the paint…box in the other。 Remarks were
heard like： 〃You mustn't poke it with； your finger； Jerry darling；
or you'll break the hands off〃； and 〃I thought he'd； better have the
square sort； and not the tubes。 They're so squashy〃； and 〃You'll be
able to learn your Collect so easily with that big print； Jerry
dear。 Very kind of you； Amy。〃
Meanwhile he was aware that Uncle Samuel had given him nothing。
There was a little thick catch of disappointment in his throat； not
because he wanted a present； but because he liked Uncle Samuel。
Suddenly； from somewhere behind him his uncle said： 〃Shut your eyes；
Jerry。 Don't open them until I tell you〃then rather crossly； 〃No；
Amy； leave me alone。 I know what I'm about； thank you。〃
Jeremy shut his eyes tight。 He closed them so that the eyelids
seemed to turn right inwards and red lights flashed。 He stood there
for at least a century； all in darkness； no one saying anything save
that once Mary cried 〃Oh！〃 and clapped her hands； which same cry
excited him to such a pitch that he would have dug his nails into
his hands had he not so consistently in the past bitten them that
there were no nails with which to dig。 He waited。 He waited。 He
waited。 He was not eight； he was eighty when at last Uncle Samuel
said； 〃Now you may look。〃
He opened his eyes and turned； for a moment the nursery； too； rocked
in the unfamiliar light。 Then he saw。 On the middle of the nursery
carpet was a village； a real village； six houses with red roofs；
green windows and white porches； a church with a tower and a tiny
bell； an orchard with flowers on the fruit trees； a green lawn； a
street with a butcher's shop； a post office； and a grocer's。
Villager Noah； Mrs。 Noah and the little Noahs； a field with cows；
horses； dogs； a farm with chickens and even two pigs。 。 。
He stood； he stared； he drew a deep breath。
〃It comes all the way from Germany；〃 said Aunt Amy； who always made
things uninteresting if she possibly could。
There was much delighted talk。 Jeremy said nothing。 But Uncle Samuel
understood。
〃Glad you like it；〃 he said； and left the room。
〃Aren't you pleased ？〃 said Helen。
Jeremy still said nothing。
〃Sausages。 Sausages！〃 cried Mary； as Gladys； grinning； entered with
a dish of a lovely and pleasant smell。 But Jeremy did not turn。 He
simply stood therestaring。
III
It is of the essence of birthdays that they cannot maintain
throughout a long day the glorious character of their early dawning。
In Polchester thirty years ago there were no cinematographs； no
theatre save for an occasional amateur performance at the Assembly
Rooms and； once and again； a magic…lantern show。 On this particular
day； moreover； Mr。 and Mrs。 Cole were immensely busied with
preparations for some parochial tea。 Miss Trefusis had calls to
make； and； of course； Uncle Samuel was invisible。 The Birthday then
suddenly became no longer a birthday but an ordinary daywith an
extraordinary standard。 This is why so many birthdays end in tears。
But Jeremy； as was usual with him； took everything quietly。 He might
cry aloud about such an affair as the conquest of the wicker chair
because that did not deeply matter to him； but about the real things
he was silent。 The village was one of the real things； during all
the morning he remained shut up in his soul with it； the wide world
closed off from them by many muffled doors。 How had Uncle Samuel
known that he had deep in his own inside； so deep that he had not
mentioned it even to himself； wanted something just like this？
Thirty years ago there were none of the presents that there are for
children nowno wonderful railways that run round the nursery from
Monte Carlo to Paris with all the stations marked； no dolls that are
so like fashionable women that you are given a manicure set with
them to keep their nails tidy； no miniature motor…cars that run of
themselves and go for miles round the floor without being wound up。
Jeremy knew none of these things； and was the happier that he did
not。 To such a boy such a vi