Behind the quiet evening light he saw wonderful prospects, a new life in which he might dream as he pleased, a new friend to whom he might tell these dreams, a new confidence in his own power....
But it was not to be.
That very night Mr.Pidgen died, very peacefully, in his sleep, from heart failure.

He had had, as he had himself said, a happy life.
VIII Years passed and Hugh Seymour grew up.

I do not wish here to say much more about him.

It happened that when he was twenty-four his work compelled him to live in that Square in London known as March Square (it will be very carefully described in a minute).

Here he lived for five years, and, during that time, he was happy enough to gain the intimacy and confidence of some of the children who played in the Gardens there.
They trusted him and told him more than they told many people.