time he took courage, and ascended the ladder till he stood beside them.
"Well, my lad, and what may you want up here?"
"I wanted to know where the city of Christminster is, if you please."
"Christminster is out across there, by that clump. You can see it—at least you can on a clear day. Ah, no, you can't now."
The other tiler, glad of any kind of diversion from the monotony of his labor, had also turned to look towards the quarter designated. "You can't often see it in weather like this," he said. "The time I've noticed it is when the sun is going down in a blaze of flame, and it looks like I don't know what."
"The heavenly Jerusalem," suggested the serious urchin.
"Ay—though I should never ha' thought of it myself... But I can't see no Christminster to-day."
The boy strained his eyes also; yet neither could he see the far-off city. He descended from the barn, and, abandoning Christminster with the versatility of his age, he walked along the ridge-track, looking for any natural objects of interest that might lie in the banks thereabout. When he repassed the barn to go back to Marygreen he observed that the ladder was still in its place, but that the men had finished their day's work and gone away.
It was waning towards evening; there was still a faint mist, but it had cleared a little except in the damper tracts of subjacent country and along the river-courses. He thought again of Christminster, and wished, since he had come two or three miles from his aunt's house on purpose, that he could have seen for once this attractive city of which he had been told. But even if he waited here it was hardly likely that the air would clear before night. Yet he was loath to leave the spot, for the northern expanse became lost to view on retreating towards the village only a few hundred yards.
