“Oh, I say, here’s a game! What’s he up to now?”
“Hi! Vane! Old weathercock! Hold hard!”
“Do you hear? Which way does the wind blow?”
Three salutations shouted at a lad of about sixteen, who had just shown himself at the edge of a wood on the sunny slope of the Southwolds, one glorious September morning, when the spider-webs were still glittering with iridescent colours, as if every... more...