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Updated: May 5, 2025
You'll never get on. You'll never be a success." "Never mind," said Hugh, "it doesn't matter much what you say now, you're only talking 'for my good' like Mr. Lasher. I don't care, I heard what you said yesterday, and it's made all the difference. I'll come and stay with you." "Well, so you shall," said Mr. Pidgen. "I can't help it. You shall come as often as you like.
Lasher loved what he called "images." Give up your fairy stories now that they have been proved a failure." Here Mr. Pidgen, in the most astonishing way, was suddenly in a terrible temper. "They're not!" he almost screamed. "Not at all. Failures, from the worldly point of view, yes; but there are some who understand. I would not have done anything else if I could.
"Here, mind," he said to the two of them, "you saw me in my glory just now and don't you forget it. I may be a knight in shining armour after all. It only depends upon the point of view." "So it does," said Mr. Pidgen, taking his hat off, "you were very fine, I shan't forget." They stood there in silence for a time....
Pidgen died, very peacefully, in his sleep, from heart failure. He had had, as he had himself said, a happy life. Years passed and Hugh Seymour grew up. I do not wish here to say much more about him. Here he lived for five years, and, during that time, he was happy enough to gain the intimacy and confidence of some of the children who played in the Gardens there.
However that might have been, they seemed now to be working in unison. Only the day before he had happened to overhear them conversing in low tones, and the language, he would have sworn, was neither Eskimo, English, nor Pidgen. Yet he did not question the boy's statement that he was an American Eskimo.
Lasher strongly objected, and Hugh heard him say, "Really, Pidgen, think of the boy! Think of the boy!" and Mr. Pidgen exclaimed, "By God, so I should!... Beg pardon, Lasher! Won't do it again! Lord save me, I'm a careless old drunkard!" He had any number of strange phrases that were new and brilliant and exciting to the boy, who listened to him.
He would say, "by the martyrs of Ephesus!" or "Sunshine and thunder!" or "God stir your slumbers!" when he thought any one very stupid. He said this last one day to Mrs. Lasher, and of course she was very much astonished. She did not from the first like him at all. Mr. Pidgen and Mr.
They trusted him and told him more than they told many people. He had never forgotten Mr. Pidgen; that walk, that vision of the Scarecrow, stood, as such childish things will, for a landmark in his history. He came to believe that those experiences that he knew, in his own life, to be true, were true also for some others. That's as it may be.
Lasher, incredulously, as though that were a thing that he never possibly could have been, "my dear Pidgen!" "Ah, you think it absurd," said the other, a little cooler again. "But how do you know who watched over your early years and wanted you to be a dreamy, fairy tale kind of person instead of the cayenne pepper sort of man you are.
Pidgen met, as though by some conspirator's agreement, by the garden gate. They had said nothing to one another and yet there they were; they both glanced anxiously back at the house and then Mr. Pidgen said: "Suppose we take a walk." "Thank you very much," said Hugh. "Tea isn't till half-past four." "Very well, then, suppose you lead the way."
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