CHAPTER SEVEN.
I Hear of the Wild Birds I saw an old green felt hat, and below it lean tweed-clad shoulders.
Then I saw a knapsack with a stick slung through it, as the owner wriggled his way on to a shelf.

Presently he turned his face upward to judge the remaining distance.

It was the face of a young man, a face sallow and angular, but now a little flushed with the day's sun and the work of climbing.

It was a face that I had first seen at Fosse Manor.
I felt suddenly sick and heartsore.

I don't know why, but I had never really associated the intellectuals of Biggleswick with a business like this.