“You—of course. I’m a cub.” Old Pybus’s right hand came across and pressed his grandson’s wrist. “No—that’s great of you, my dear. No humbug, no humbug.” 4 Returning by the same way, after going as far as King’s Standing, they sat down on a dry bank under the Woolshot park fence. Castle Craven looked at them across the valley. The blueness of the landscape was changing to grey, and the occasional stirring of the tops of the beech trees gave to the day those rustlings of sadness and unrest that come with the west wi…
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