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Updated: May 28, 2025
Snatching his towel, he scampered barefoot down the passage to the nursery bathroom, where the tap was already running. Fifteen minutes later, dressed, but hatless and still barefoot, he was racing over the vast dew-drenched lawn, leaving a trail of grey-green smudges on its silvered surface, chanting the opening lines of Shelley's 'Cloud' to breakfast-hunting birds.
The two began to walk up and down together. The sunshine was beginning to melt the surface of the ground, and the birds were busy with breakfast-hunting. "Look at that little fellow!" cried the Bishop, pointing to a thrush on the lawn, "he knows his craft." The thrush had just rapped several times with his beak at a worm's earth, and was waiting with his head sideways watching.
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