They were deep and wide and tall, and filled as to the lower shelves with a number of objects which no child of spirit could find interesting any longer.  Here were the battered fragments of the presents of bygone birthdays, of which the true ownership was dubious, because we none of us would confess that we had ever been young enough to receive such childish gifts.  Here also were foolish trifles from forgotten Christmas-trees, useless objects employed by the fraudulent to give their trees a deceitful appearance of wealth.  Then there were the presents that were too useful: the elevating gifts of aunts and the improving offerings of god-parents, things that either trespassed on the arid land of lessons or presumed some grown-up virtue which the recipient neither had nor coveted.  The Olympians p. 57would refer to these dull possessions in the aggregate as “the children’s toys”; but we knew better.  Our true treasures, the things we loved, never saw the inside of that unromantic depository save through the thoughtless tidying of our rulers.  The works of watches and mechanical toys, our soldiers and cannon of brass, our fleet of walnut boats and empty cartridge-cases—these things and their brothers slept under our pillows or in the very private cardboard boot-box under the bed.  By day those that were being employed were spread about the floor or strained our pockets to bursting-point.  The people who were too old to know any better referred to them contemptuously as “rubbish,” a word we privately reserved for their aggravating presents.  And though the long interval that separated dinner and tea on wet days might weary us of our immediate jewels, it was not in the cupboard that we sought relief from Boredom.  It is true that now and again some Gentleman Adventurer would climb on a chair and investigate the shelves that were supposed to be beyond p. 58our reach, to return with piratical spoil of matches and cotton and citrate of magnesia, a cate that tingles pleasantly on the tongue of youth.  But even from this point of view it could not compare with the rich cupboards of the kitchen and the dining-room, those Meccas of piracy that filled our dreams with monstrous raisins and pickled onions, a successful pilgrimage to which would assure a man the admiring homage of his comrades for days to come.

In short, we were content to regard the toy-cupboard as a harmless hobby of the grown-up people, and we were not far wrong.  It was not for them to understand that one general cupboard could not hold the real treasures of four children, whose sense of possession was keen even to the point of battle.  It was a dustbin for toys that had been found out, and we would have scorned to display its sordid contents to our friends.  To them, if they were worthy, were revealed the true mysteries, the things that we fought for and made into dreams, the sun and moon and stars of our imaginative heaven.  Sentimental elders might greet it with tears for p. 59their lost youth if they wished; we received their congratulations calmly, and kept our pity for their insanity to ourselves.

In truth, the thing was a symbol for all our relations with grown-up people.  They always seemed so sensible and yet they could not understand.  If we fell off the banisters on to our heads they would overwhelm us wi............