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 now--no 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.