A Rally 
—why, there were such and such memories 
turning over and over in his mind, which he was 
not disinclined to tell. 
A very quiet and contemplative “ making 
remarks,” with pauses of circumspec¢tion, reverie 
—that is what it amounted to, hardly giving an 
impression of being continuous talk. I sat 
listening, fascinated—listening as it were to 
memories rather than to uttered words, feeling 
as if I myself had seen the coaches, taken the 
waggon to the Farnham clay-pits, hobnobbed 
with old Mr. Callaway, or what not. Until my 
uncle wanted to go to bed [I listened. I helped 
get him upstairs, and afterwards went to him in 
bed to wish him good-night; and then I sat late 
to hurry down on paper memoranda of the 
evening and of some (by no means all) of the 
things I had been hearing. 
147 
