Paul felt depressed.

Bathing in the pouring wet is a chilly sport, and his midday meal of cold potatoes had not been invigorating.

These he had grabbed, and, having done them up hastily in newspaper, had bolted with them out of the house.

He had been fined heavily for slackness during the week, and Mr.
Button's inevitable wrath at docked wages he desired to undergo as late as possible.

Then, the sun had blazed furiously during the last six imprisoned days, and now the long-looked for hours of freedom were disfigured by rain and blight.