II
Cuffy would soon be nine now; and very proud he felt of it. Not quite so proud as if it was ten: ten was like a little platform, where you stood and looked at a row of steps going down to one (what were you before that?) and up to twenty. It was twenty he thought of when he said: “When I’m a man.” Twenty was awfully old; any time after that you might die. Oh well, he knew people did go on being older. Mamma and Bowey both had grey hairs on their heads, and’d been alive so many years they didn’t like to tell, but pretended they’d forgotten. But he didn’t think he would. Specially not since he’d heard the text: who the God loves dies young. For if you loved God, as you HAD to, and God loved you back, then . . .
Another proud thing was his satchel; that he carried his school-books in. Th
