Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 1
Thenatthedoorofthecastletherectorhadshakenhandswithhisfatherandmother,hissoutaneflutteringinthebreeze,andthecarhaddrivenoffwithhisfatherandmotheronit.Theyhadcriedtohimfromthecar,wavingtheirhands:
—Goodbye,Stephen,goodbye!
—Goodbye,Stephen,goodbye!
Hewascaughtinthewhirlofascrimmageand,fearfuloftheflashingeyesandmuddyboots,bentdowntolookthroughthelegs.Thefellowswerestrugglingandgroaningandtheirlegswererubbingandkickingandstamping.ThenJackLawton’syellowbootsdodgedouttheballandalltheotherbootsandlegsranafter.Heranafterthemalittlewayandthenstopped.Itwasuselesstorunon.Soontheywouldbegoinghomefortheholidays.Aftersupperinthestudyhallhewouldchangethenumberpastedupinsidehisdeskfromseventy-seventoseventy-six.
Itwouldbebettertobeinthestudyhallthanoutthereinthecold.Theskywaspaleandcoldbuttherewerelightsinthecastle.HewonderedfromwhichwindowHamiltonRowanhadthrownhishatontheha-haandhadtherebeenflowerbedsatthattimeunderthewindows.Onedaywhenhehadbeencalledtothecastlethebutlerhadshownhimthemarksofthesoldiers’slugsinthewoodofthedoorandhadgivenhimapieceofshortbreadthatthecommunityate.Itwasniceandwarmtoseethelightsinthecastle.Itwaslikesomethinginabook.PerhapsLeicesterAbbeywaslikethat.
