ACTIONS AND REACTIONS By Rudyard Kipling CONTENTS An Habitation Enforced The Recall Garm--a Hostage The Power of the Dog The Mother Hive The Bees and the Flies With the Night Mail The Four Angels A Deal in Cotton The New Knighthood The Puzzler The Puzzler Little Foxes Gallio's Song The House Surgeon The Rabbi's Song ACTIONS AND REACTIONS AN HABITATION ENFORCED My friend, if cause doth wrest thee, Ere folly hath much oppressed thee, Far from acquaintance kest thee Where country may digest thee. .. Thank God that so hath blessed thee, And sit down, Robin, and rest thee. --THOMAS TUSSER. It came without warning, at the very hour his hand was outstretched tocrumple the Holz and Gunsberg Combine. The New York doctors called itoverwork, and he lay in a darkened room, one ankle crossed abovethe other, tongue pressed into palate, wondering whether the nextbrain-surge of prickly fires would drive his soul from all anchorages. At last they gave judgment. With care he might in two years return tothe arena, but for the present he must go across the water and do nowork whatever. He accepted the terms. It was capitulation; but theCombine that had shivered beneath his knife gave him all the honoursof war: Gunsberg himself, full of condolences, came to the steamer andfilled the Chapins' suite of cabins with overwhelming flower-works. "Smilax, " said George Chapin when he saw them. "Fitz is right. I'm dead;only I don't see why he left out the 'In Memoriam' on the ribbons!" "Nonsense!" his wife answered, and poured him his tincture. "You'll beback before you can think. " He looked at himself in the mirror, surprised that his face had not beenbranded by the hells of the past three months. The noise of the decksworried him, and he lay down, his tongue only a little pressed againsthis palate. An hour later he said: "Sophie, I feel sorry about taking you away fromeverything like this. I--I suppose we're the two loneliest people onGod's earth to-night. " Said Sophie his wife, and kissed him: "Isn't it something to you thatwe're going together?" They drifted about Europe for months--sometimes alone, sometimes withchance met gipsies of their own land. From the North Cape to the BlueGrotto at Capri they wandered, because the next steamer headed that way, or because some one had set them on the road. The doctors had warnedSophie that Chapin was not to take interest even in other men'sinterests; but a familiar sensation at the back of the neck after onehour's keen talk with a Nauheimed railway magnate saved her any trouble. He nearly wept. "And I'm over thirty, " he cried. "With all I meant to do!" "Let's call it a honeymoon, " said Sophie. "D' you know, in all the sixyears we've been married, you've never told me what you meant to do withyour life?" "With my life? What's the use? It's finished now. " Sophie looked upquickly from the Bay of Naples. "As far as my business goes, I shallhave to live on my rents like that architect at San Moritz. " "You'll get better if you don't worry; and even if it rakes time, thereare worse things than--How much have you?" "Between four and five million. But it isn't the money. You know itisn't. It's the principle. How could you respect me? You never did, thefirst year after we married, till I went to work like the others. Ourtradition and upbringing are against it. We can't accept those ideals. " "Well, I suppose I married you for some sort of ideal, " she answered, and they returned to their forty-third hotel. In England they missed the alien tongues of Continental streets thatreminded them of their own polyglot cities. In England all men spoke onetongue, speciously like American to the ear, but on cross-examinationunintelligible. "Ah, but you have not seen England, " said a lady with iron-grey hair. They had met her in Vienna, Bayreuth, and Florence, and were gratefulto find her again at Claridge's, for she commanded situations, and knewwhere prescriptions are most carefully made up. "You ought to take aninterest in the home of our ancestors as I do. " "I've tried for a week, Mrs. Shonts, " said Sophie, "but I never get anyfurther than tipping German waiters. " "These men are not the true type, " Mrs. Shouts went on. "I know whereyou should go. " Chapin pricked up his ears, anxious to run anywhere from the streetson which quick men, something of his kidney, did the business denied tohim. "We hear and we obey, Mrs. Shonts, " said Sophie, feeling his unrest ashe drank the loathed British tea. Mrs. Shonts smiled, and took them in hand. She wrote widely andtelegraphed far on their behalf till, armed with her letter ofintroduction, she drove them into that wilderness which is reached froman ash-barrel of a station called Charing Cross. They were to go toRockett's--the farm of one Cloke, in the southern counties--where, sheassured them, they would meet the genuine England of folklore and song. Rocketts they found after some hours, four miles from a station, and, so far as they could, judge in the bumpy darkness, twice as many from aroad. Trees, kine, and the outlines of barns showed shadowy about themwhen they alighted, and Mr. And Mrs. Cloke, at the open door of a deepstone-floored kitchen, made them shyly welcome. They lay in an atticbeneath a wavy whitewashed ceiling, and, because it rained, a wood firewas made in an iron basket on a brick hearth, and they fell asleep tothe chirping of mice and the whimper of flames. When they woke it was a fair day, full of the noises, of birds, thesmell of box lavender, and fried bacon, mixed with an elemental smellthey had never met before. "This, " said Sophie, nearly pushing out the thin casement in an attemptto see round the corner, "is--what did the hack-cabman say to therailway porter about my trunk--'quite on the top?'" "No; 'a little bit of all right. ' I feel farther away from anywhere thanI've ever felt in my life. We must find out where the telegraph officeis. " "Who cares?" said Sophie, wandering about, hairbrush in hand, to admirethe illustrated weekly pictures pasted on door and cupboard. But there was no rest for the alien soul till he had made sure of thetelegraph office. He asked the Clokes' daughter, laying breakfast, whileSophie plunged her face in the lavender bush outside the low window. "Go to the stile a-top o' the Barn field, " said Mary, "and look acrossPardons to the next spire. It's directly under. You can't miss it--notif you keep to the footpath. My sister's the telegraphist there. But you're in the three-mile radius, sir. The boy delivers telegramsdirectly to this door from Pardons village. " "One has to take a good deal on trust in this country, " he murmured. Sophie looked at the close turf, scarred only with last night's wheels, at two ruts which wound round a rickyard, and at the circle of stillorchard about the half-timbered house. "What's the matter with it?" she said. "Telegrams delivered to the Valeof Avalon, of course, " and she beckoned in an earnest-eyed hound ofengaging manners and no engagements, who answered, at times, to the nameof Rambler. He led them, after breakfast, to the rise behind the housewhere the stile stood against the skyline, and, "I wonder what we shallfind now, " said Sophie, frankly prancing with joy on the grass. It was a slope of gap-hedged fields possessed to their centres by clumpsof brambles. Gates were not, and the rabbit-mined, cattle-rubbed postsleaned out and in. A narrow path doubled among the bushes, scores ofwhite tails twinkled before the racing hound, and a hawk rose, whistlingshrilly. "No roads, no nothing!" said Sophie, her short skirt hooked by briers. "I thought all England was a garden. There's your spire, George, acrossthe valley. How curious!" They walked toward it through an all abandoned land. Here they foundthe ghost of a patch of lucerne that had refused to die: there a harshfallow surrendered to yard-high thistles; and here a breadth of rampantkelk feigning to be lawful crop. In the ungrazed pastures swaths of deadstuff caught their feet, and the ground beneath glistened with sweat. Atthe bottom of the valley a little brook had undermined its footbridge, and frothed in the wreckage. But there stood great woods on the slopesbeyond--old, tall, and brilliant, like unfaded tapestries against thewalls of a ruined house. "All this within a hundred miles of London, " he said. "Looks as if ithad had nervous prostration, too. " The footpath turned the shoulder ofa slope, through a thicket of rank rhododendrons, and crossed what hadonce been a carriage drive, which ended in the shadow of two giganticholm-oaks. "A house!" said Sophie, in a whisper. "A Colonial house!" Behind the blue-green of the twin trees rose a dark-bluish brickGeorgian pile, with a shell-shaped fan-light over its pillared door. Thehound had gone off on his own foolish quests. Except for some stir itthe branches and the flight of four startled magpies; there was neitherlife nor sound about the square house, but it looked out of its longwindows most friendlily. "Cha-armed to meet you, I'm sure, " said Sophie, and curtsied to theground. "George, this is history I can understand. We began here. " Shecurtsied again. The June sunshine twinkled on all the lights. It was as though an oldlady, wise in three generations' experience, but for the present sittingout, bent to listen to her flushed and eager grandchild. "I must look!" Sophie tiptoed to a window, and shaded her eyes with herhand. "Oh, this room's half-full of cotton-bales--wool, I suppose! But Ican see a bit of the mantelpiece. George, do come! Isn't that some one?" She fell back behind her husband. The front door opened slowly, to showthe hound, his nose white with milk, in charge of an ancient of daysclad in a blue linen ephod curiously gathered on breast and shoulders. "Certainly, " said George, half aloud. "Father Time himself. This iswhere he lives, Sophie. " "We came, " said Sophie weakly. "Can we see the house? I'm afraid that'sour dog. " "No, 'tis Rambler, " said the old man. "He's been, at my swill-pailagain. Staying at Rocketts, be ye? Come in. Ah! you runagate!" The hound broke from him, and he tottered after him down the drive. Theyentered the hall--just such a high light hall as such a houseshould own. A slim-balustered staircase, wide and shallow and oncecreamy-white, climbed out of it under a long oval window. On either sidedelicately moulded doors gave on to wool-lumbered rooms, whose sea-greenmantelpieces were adorned with nymphs, scrolls, and Cupids in lowrelief. "What's the firm that makes these things?" cried Sophie, enraptured. "Oh, I forgot! These must be the originals. Adams, is it? I neverdreamed of anything like that steel-cut fender. Does he mean us to goeverywhere?" "He's catching the dog, " said George, looking out. "We don't count. " They explored the first or ground floor, delighted as children playingburglars. "This is like all England, " she said at last. "Wonderful, but noexplanation. You're expected to know it beforehand. Now, let's tryupstairs. " The stairs never creaked beneath their feet. From the broad landingthey entered a long, green-panelled room lighted by three full-lengthwindows, which overlooked the forlorn wreck of a terraced garden, andwooded slopes beyond. "The drawing-room, of course. " Sophie swam up and down it. "Thatmantelpiece--Orpheus and Eurydice--is the best of them all. Isn't itmarvellous? Why, the room seems furnished with nothing in it! How'sthat, George?" "It's the proportions. I've noticed it. " "I saw a Heppelwhite couch once"--Sophie laid her finger to her flushedcheek and considered. "With, two of them--one on each side--you wouldn'tneed anything else. Except--there must be one perfect mirror over thatmantelpiece. " "Look at that view. It's a framed Constable, " her husband cried. "No; it's a Morland--a parody of a Morland. But about that couch, George. Don't you think Empire might be better than Heppelwhite? Dullgold against that pale green? It's a pity they don't make spinetsnowadays. " "I believe you can get them. Look at that oak wood behind the pines. " "'While you sat and played toccatas stately, at the clavichord, "' Sophiehummed, and, head on one; side, nodded to where the perfect mirrorshould hang: Then they found bedrooms with dressing-rooms and powdering-closets, andsteps leading up and down--boxes of rooms, round, square, and octagonal, with enriched ceilings and chased door-locks. "Now about servants. Oh!" She had darted up the last stairs to thechequered darkness of the top floor, where loose tiles lay among brokenlaths, and the walls were scrawled with names, sentiments, and hoprecords. "They've been keeping pigeons here, " she cried. "And you could drive a buggy through the roof anywhere, " said George. "That's what I say, " the old man cried below them on the stairs. "Not adry place for my pigeons at all. " "But why was it allowed to get like this?" said Sophie. "Tis with housen as teeth, " he replied. "Let 'em go too far, and there'snothing to be done. Time was they was minded to sell her, but none wouldbuy. She was too far away along from any place. Time was they'd ha'lived here theyselves, but they took and died. " "Here?" Sophie moved beneath the light of a hole in the roof. "Nah--none dies here excep' falling off ricks and such. In London theydied. " He plucked a lock of wool from his blue smock. "They was nostaple--neither the Elphicks nor the Moones. Shart and brittle allof 'em. Dead they be seventeen year, for I've been here caretakin'twenty-five. " "Who does all the wool belong to downstairs?" George asked. "To the estate. I'll show you the back parts if ye like. You're fromAmerica, ain't ye? I've had a son there once myself. " They followed himdown the main stairway. He paused at the turn and swept one hand towardthe wall. "Plenty room, here for your coffin to come down. Seven footand three men at each end wouldn't brish the paint. If I die in my bedthey'll 'ave to up-end me like a milk-can. 'Tis all luck, dye see?" He led them on and on, through a maze of back kitchens, dairies, larders, and sculleries, that melted along covered ways into afarm-house, visibly older than the main building, which again rambledout among barns, byres, pig-pens, stalls and stables to the dead fieldsbehind. "Somehow, " said Sophie, sitting exhausted on an ancientwell-curb--"somehow one wouldn't insult these lovely old things byfilling them with hay. " George looked at long stone walls upholding reaches of silvery-oakweather-boarding; buttresses of mixed flint and bricks; outside stairs, stone upon arched stone; curves of thatch where grass sprouted; roundelsof house-leeked tiles, and a huge paved yard populated by two cows andthe repentant Rambler. He had not thought of himself or of the telegraphoffice for two and a half hours. "But why, " said Sophie, as they went back through the crater of strickenfields, --"why is one expected to know everything in England? Why dothey never tell?" "You mean about the Elphicks and the Moones?" he answered. "Yes--and the lawyers and the estate. Who are they? I wonder whetherthose painted floors in the green room were real oak. Don't you like usexploring things together--better than Pompeii?" George turned once more to look at the view. "Eight hundred acres gowith the house--the old man told me. Five farms altogether. Rocketts isone of 'em. " "I like Mrs. Cloke. But what is the old house called?" George laughed. "That's one of the things you're expected to know. Henever told me. " The Clokes were more communicative. That evening and thereafter fora week they gave the Chapins the official history, as one gives it tolodgers, of Friars Pardon the house and its five farms. But Sophieasked so many questions, and George was so humanly interested, that, as confidence in the strangers grew, they launched, with observed andacquired detail, into the lives and deaths and doings of the Elphicksand the Moones and their collaterals, the Haylings and the Torrells. Itwas a tale told serially by Cloke in the barn, or his wife in the dairy, the last chapters reserved for the kitchen o' nights by the big fire, when the two had been half the day exploring about the house, whereold Iggulden, of the blue smock, cackled and chuckled to see them. Themotives that swayed the characters were beyond their comprehension; thefates that shifted them were gods they had never met; the sidelightsMrs. Cloke threw on act and incident were more amazing than anything inthe record. Therefore the Chapins listened delightedly, and blessed Mrs. Shonts. "But why--why--why--did So-and-so do so-and-so?" Sophie would demandfrom her seat by the pothook; and Mrs. Cloke would answer, smoothing herknees, "For the sake of the place. " "I give it up, " said George one night in their own room. "People don'tseem to matter in this country compared to the places they live in. Theway she tells it, Friars Pardon was a sort of Moloch. " "Poor old thing!" They had been walking round the farms as usual beforetea. "No wonder they loved it. Think of the sacrifices they made for it. Jane Elphick married the younger Torrell to keep it in the family. Theoctagonal room with the moulded ceiling next to the big bedroom washers. Now what did he tell you while he was feeding the pigs?" saidSophie. "About the Torrell cousins and the uncle who died in Java. They lived atBurnt House--behind High Pardons, where that brook is all blocked up. " "No; Burnt House is under High Pardons Wood, before you come to GaleAnstey, " Sophie corrected. "Well, old man Cloke said--" Sophie threw open the door and called down into the kitchen, where theClokes were covering the fire "Mrs. Cloke, isn't Burnt House under HighPardons?" "Yes, my dear, of course, " the soft voice answered absently. A cough. "I beg your pardon, Madam. What was it you said?" "Never mind. I prefer it the other way, " Sophie laughed, and Georgere-told the missing chapter as she sat on the bed. "Here to-day an' gone to-morrow, " said Cloke warningly. "They'vepaid their first month, but we've only that Mrs. Shonts's letter forguarantee. " "None she sent never cheated us yet. It slipped out before I thought. She's a most humane young lady. They'll be going away in a little. An'you've talked a lot too, Alfred. " "Yes, but the Elphicks are all dead. No one can bring my loose talkinghome to me. But why do they stay on and stay on so?" In due time George and Sophie asked each other that question, and put itaside. They argued that the climate--a pearly blend, unlike the hotand cold ferocities of their native land--suited them, as the thickstillness of the nights certainly suited George. He was saved even thesight of a metalled road, which, as presumably leading to business, wakes desire in a man; and the telegraph office at the village of FriarsPardon, where they sold picture post-cards and pegtops, was two walkingmiles across the fields and woods. For all that touched his past among his fellows, or their remembranceof him, he might have been in another planet; and Sophie, whose life hadbeen very largely spent among husbandless wives of lofty ideals, hadno wish to leave this present of God. The unhurried meals, theforeknowledge of deliciously empty hours to follow, the breadths of softsky under which they walked together and reckoned time only by theirhunger or thirst; the good grass beneath their feet that cheated themiles; their discoveries, always together, amid the farms--Griffons, Rocketts, Burnt House, Gale Anstey, and the Home Farm, where Iggulden ofthe blue smock-frock would waylay them, and they would ransack the oldhouse once more; the long wet afternoons when, they tucked up theirfeet on the bedroom's deep window-sill over against the apple-trees, andtalked together as never till then had they found time to talk--thesethings contented her soul, and her body throve. "Have you realized, " she asked one morning, "that we've been hereabsolutely alone for the last thirty-four days?" "Have you counted them?" he asked. "Did you like them?" she replied. "I must have. I didn't think about them. Yes, I have. Six months ago Ishould have fretted myself sick. Remember at Cairo? I've only had two orthree bad times. Am I getting better, or is it senile decay?" "Climate, all climate. " Sophie swung her new-bought English boots, asshe sat on the stile overlooking Friars Pardon, behind the Clokes'sbarn. "One must take hold of things though, " he said, "if it's only to keepone's hand in. " His eyes did not flicker now as they swept the emptyfields. "Mustn't one?" "Lay out a Morristown links over Gale Anstey. I dare say you could hireit. " "No, I'm not as English as that--nor as Morristown. Cloke says all thefarms here could be made to pay. " "Well, I'm Anastasia in the 'Treasure of Franchard. ' I'm content to bealive and purr. There's no hurry. " "No. " He smiled. "All the same, I'm going to see after my mail. " "You promised you wouldn't have any. " "There's some business coming through that's amusing me. Honest. Itdoesn't get on my nerves at all. " "Want a secretary?" "No, thanks, old thing! Isn't that quite English?" "Too English! Go away. " But none the less in broad daylight she returnedthe kiss. "I'm off to Pardons. I haven't been to the house for nearly aweek. " "How've you decided to furnish Jane Elphick's bedroom?" he laughed, forit had come to be a permanent Castle in Spain between them. "Black Chinese furniture and yellow silk brocade, " she answered, andran downhill. She scattered a few cows at a gap with a flourish of aground-ash that Iggulden had cut for her a week ago, and singing as shepassed under the holmoaks, sought the farm-house at the back ofFriars Pardon. The old man was not to be found, and she knocked athis half-opened door, for she needed him to fill her idle forenoon. Ablue-eyed sheep-dog, a new friend, and Rambler's old enemy, crawled outand besought her to enter. Iggulden sat in his chair by the fire, a thistle-spud between his knees, his head drooped. Though she had never seen death before, her heart, that missed a beat, told her that he was dead. She did not speak or cry, but stood outside the door, and the dog licked her hand. When he threwup his nose, she heard herself saying: "Don't howl! Please don't beginto howl, Scottie, or I shall run away!" She held her ground while the shadows in the rickyard moved toward noon;sat after a while on the steps by the door, her arms round the dog'sneck, waiting till some one should come. She watched the smokelesschimneys of Friars Pardon slash its roofs with shadow, and the smoke ofIggulden's last lighted fire gradually thin and cease. Against her willshe fell to wondering how many Moones, Elphicks, and Torrells had beenswung round the turn of the broad Mall stairs. Then she remembered theold man's talk of being "up-ended like a milk-can, " and buried her faceon Scottie's neck. At last a horse's feet clinked upon flags, rustledin the old grey straw of the rickyard, and she found herself facingthe vicar--a figure she had seen at church declaiming impossibilities(Sophie was a Unitarian) in an unnatural voice. "He's dead, " she said, without preface. "Old Iggulden? I was coming for a talk with him. " The vicar passed inuncovered. "Ah!" she heard him say. "Heart-failure! How long have youbeen here?" "Since a quarter to eleven. " She looked at her watch earnestly and sawthat her hand did not shake. "I'll sit with him now till the doctor comes. D'you think you couldtell him, and--yes, Mrs. Betts in the cottage with the wistaria next theblacksmith's? I'm afraid this has been rather a shock to you. " Sophie nodded, and fled toward the village. Her body failed her for amoment; she dropped beneath a hedge, and looked back at the great house. In some fashion its silence and stolidity steadied her for her errand. Mrs. Betts, small, black-eyed, and dark, was almost as unconcerned asFriars Pardon. "Yiss, yiss, of course. Dear me! Well, Iggulden he had had his day in myfather's time. Muriel, get me my little blue bag, please. Yiss, ma'am. They come down like ellum-branches in still weather. No warnin' at all. Muriel, my bicycle's be'ind the fowlhouse. I'll tell Dr. Dallas, ma'am. " She trundled off on her wheel like a brown bee, while Sophie--heavenabove and earth beneath changed--walked stiffly home, to fall overGeorge at his letters, in a muddle of laughter and tears. "It's all quite natural for them, " she gasped. "They come down likeellum-branches in still weather. Yiss, ma'am. ' No, there wasn't anythingin the least horrible, only--only--Oh, George, that poor shiny stick ofhis between his poor, thin knees! I couldn't have borne it if Scottiehad howled. I didn't know the vicar was so--so sensitive. He said he wasafraid it was ra--rather a shock. Mrs. Betts told me to go home, andI wanted to collapse on her floor. But I didn't disgrace myself. I--Icouldn't have left him--could I?" "You're sure you've took no 'arm?" cried Mrs. Cloke, who had heard thenews by farm-telegraphy, which is older but swifter than Marconi's. "No. I'm perfectly well, " Sophie protested. "You lay down till tea-time. " Mrs. Cloke patted her shoulder. "THEY'llbe very pleased, though she 'as 'ad no proper understandin' for twentyyears. " "They" came before twilight--a black-bearded man in moleskins, and alittle palsied old woman, who chirruped like a wren. "I'm his son, " said the man to Sophie, among the lavender bushes. "We'ad a difference--twenty year back, and didn't speak since. But I'm hisson all the 'same, and we thank you for the watching. " "I'm only glad I happened to be there, " she answered, and from thebottom of her heart she meant it. "We heard he spoke a lot o' you--one time an' another since you came. Wethank you kindly, " the man added. "Are you the son that was in America?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am. On my uncle's farm, in Connecticut. He was what they callrood-master there. " "Whereabouts in Connecticut?" asked George over her shoulder. "Veering Holler was the name. I was there six year with my uncle. " "How small the world is!" Sophie cried. "Why, all my mother's peoplecome from Veering Hollow. There must be some there still--the Lashmars. Did you ever hear of them?" "I remember hearing that name, seems to me, " he answered, but his facewas blank as the back of a spade. A little before dusk a woman in grey, striding like a foot-soldier, andbearing on her arm a long pole, crashed through the orchard calling forfood. George, upon whom the unannounced English worked mysteriously, fled to the parlour; but Mrs. Cloke came forward beaming. Sophie couldnot escape. "We've only just heard of it;" said the stranger, turning on her. "I'vebeen out with the otter-hounds all day. It was a splendidly sportin'thing--" "Did you--er--kill?" said Sophie. She knew from books she could not gofar wrong here. "Yes, a dry bitch--seventeen pounds, " was the answer. "A splendidlysportin' thing of you to do. Poor old Iggulden--" "Oh--that!" said Sophie, enlightened. "If there had been any people at Pardons it would never have happened. He'd have been looked after. But what can you expect from a parcel ofLondon solicitors?" Mrs. Cloke murmured something. "No. I'm soaked from the knees down. If I hang about I shall getchilled. A cup of tea, Mrs. Cloke, and I can eat one of your sandwichesas I go. " She wiped her weather-worn face with a green and yellow silkhandkerchief. "Yes, my lady!" Mrs. Cloke ran and returned swiftly. "Our land marches with Pardons for a mile on the south, " she explained, waving the full cup, "but one has quite enough to do with one's ownpeople without poachin'. Still, if I'd known, I'd have sent Dora, ofcourse. Have you seen her this afternoon, Mrs. Cloke? No? I wonderwhether that girl did sprain her ankle. Thank you. " It was a formidablehunk of bread and bacon that Mrs. Cloke presented. "As I was sayin', Pardons is a scandal! Lettin' people die like dogs. There ought to bepeople there who do their duty. You've done yours, though there wasn'tthe faintest call upon you. Good night. Tell Dora, if she comes, I'vegone on. " She strode away, munching her crust, and Sophie reeled breathless intothe parlour, to shake the shaking George. "Why did you keep catching my eye behind the blind? Why didn't you comeout and do your duty?" "Because I should have burst. Did you see the mud on its cheek?" hesaid. "Once. I daren't look again. Who is she?" "God--a local deity then. Anyway, she's another of the things you'reexpected to know by instinct. " Mrs. Cloke, shocked at their levity, told them that it was LadyConant, wife of Sir Walter Conant, Baronet, a large landholder in theneighbourhood; and if not God; at least His visible Providence. Georgemade her talk of that family for an hour. "Laughter, " said Sophie afterward in their own room, "is the mark of thesavage. Why couldn't you control your emotions? It's all real to her. " "It's all real to me. That's my trouble, " he answered in an alteredtone. "Anyway, it's real enough to mark time with. Don't you think so?" "What d'you mean?" she asked quickly, though she knew his voice. "That I'm better. I'm well enough to kick. " "What at?" "This!" He waved his hand round the one room. "I must have something toplay with till I'm fit for work again. " "Ah!" She sat on the bed and leaned forward, her hands clasped. "Iwonder if it's good for you. " "We've been better here than anywhere, " he went on slowly. "One couldalways sell it again. " She nodded gravely, but her eyes sparkled. "The only thing that worries me is what happened this morning. I want toknow how you feel about it. If it's on your nerves in the least we canhave the old farm at the back of the house pulled down, or perhaps ithas spoiled the notion for you?" "Pull it down?" she cried. "You've no business faculty. Why, that'swhere we could live while we're putting the big house in order. It'salmost under the same roof. No! What happened this morning seemed to bemore of a--of a leading than anything else. There ought to be people atPardons. Lady Conant's quite right. " "I was thinking more of the woods and the roads. I could double thevalue of the place in six months. " "What do they want for it?" She shook her head, and her loosened hairfell glowingly about her cheeks. "Seventy-five thousand dollars. They'll take sixty-eight. " "Less than half what we paid for our old yacht when we married. And wedidn't have a good time in her. You were--" "Well, I discovered I was too much of an American to be content to be arich man's son. You aren't blaming me for that?" "Oh, no. Only it was a very businesslike honeymoon. How far are youalong with the deal, George?" "I can mail the deposit on the purchase money to-morrow morning, and wecan have the thing completed in a fortnight or three weeks--if you sayso. " "Friars Pardon--Friars Pardon!" Sophie chanted rapturously, her darkgray eyes big with delight. "All the farms? Gale Anstey, Burnt House, Rocketts, the Home Farm, and Griffons? Sure you've got 'em all?" "Sure. " He smiled. "And the woods? High Pardons Wood, Lower Pardons, Suttons, Dutton'sShaw, Reuben's Ghyll, Maxey's Ghyll, and both the Oak Hangers? Sureyou've got 'em all?" "Every last stick. Why, you know them as well as I do. " He laughed. "They say there's five thousand--a thousand pounds' worth oflumber--timber they call it--in the Hangers alone. " "Mrs. Cloke's oven must be mended first thing, and the kitchen roof. Ithink I'll have all this whitewashed, " Sophie broke in, pointing tothe ceiling. "The whole place is a scandal. Lady Conant is quite right. George, when did you begin to fall in love with the house? In thegreenroom that first day? I did. " "I'm not in love with it. One must do something to mark time till one'sfit for work. " "Or when we stood under the oaks, and the door opened? Oh! Ought I to goto poor Iggulden's funeral?" She sighed with utter happiness. "Wouldn't they call it a liberty now?" said he. "But I liked him. " "But you didn't own him at the date of his death. " "That wouldn't keep me away. Only, they made such a fuss about thewatching"--she caught her breath--"it might be ostentatious from thatpoint of view, too. Oh, George"--she reached for his hand--"we're twolittle orphans moving in worlds not realized, and we shall make some badbreaks. But we're going to have the time of our lives. " "We'll run up to London to-morrow, and see if we can hurry those Englishlaw solicitors. I want to get to work. " They went. They suffered many things ere they returned across the fieldsin a fly one Saturday night, nursing a two by two-and-a-half box ofdeeds and maps--lawful owners of Friars Pardon and the five decayedfarms therewith. "I do most sincerely 'ope and trust you'll be 'appy, Madam, " Mrs. Clokegasped, when she was told the news by the kitchen fire. "Goodness! It isn't a marriage!" Sophie exclaimed, a little awed; for tothem the joke, which to an American means work, was only just beginning. "If it's took in a proper spirit"--Mrs. Cloke's eye turned toward heroven. "Send and have that mended to-morrow, " Sophie whispered. "We couldn't 'elp noticing, " said Cloke slowly, "from the times youwalked there, that you an' your lady was drawn to it, but--but I don'tknow as we ever precisely thought--" His wife's glance checked him. "That we were that sort of people, " said George. "We aren't sure of itourselves yet. " "Perhaps, " said Cloke, rubbing his knees, "just for the sake of sayingsomething, perhaps you'll park it?" "What's that?" said George. "Turn it all into a fine park like Violet Hill"--he jerked a thumb towestward--"that Mr. Sangres bought. It was four farms, and Mr. Sangresmade a fine park of them, with a herd of faller deer. " "Then it wouldn't be Friars Pardon, " said Sophie. "Would it?" "I don't know as I've ever heard Pardons was ever anything but wheat an'wool. Only some gentlemen say that parks are less trouble than tenants. "He laughed nervously. "But the gentry, o' course, they keep on prettymuch as they was used to. " "I see, " said Sophie. "How did Mr. Sangres make his money?" "I never rightly heard. It was pepper an' spices, or it may ha' beengloves. No. Gloves was Sir Reginald Liss at Marley End. Spices was Mr. Sangres. He's a Brazilian gentleman--very sunburnt like. " "Be sure o' one thing. You won't 'ave any trouble, " said Mrs. Cloke, just before they went to bed. Now the news of the purchase was told to Mr. And Mrs. Cloke alone at 8P. M. Of a Saturday. None left the farm till they set out for church nextmorning. Yet when they reached the church and were about to slip asideinto their usual seats, a little beyond the font, where they could seethe red-furred tails of the bellropes waggle and twist at ringing time, they were swept forward irresistibly, a Cloke on either flank (and yetthey had not walked with the Clokes), upon the ever-retiring bosom of ablack-gowned verger, who ushered them into a room of a pew at the headof the left aisle, under the pulpit. "This, " he sighed reproachfully, "is the Pardons' Pew, " and shut themin. They could see little more than the choir boys in the chancel, but tothe roots of the hair of their necks they felt the congregation behindmercilessly devouring them by look. "When the wicked man turneth away. " The strong, alien voice of thepriest vibrated under the hammer-beam roof, and a loneliness unfeltbefore swamped their hearts, as they searched for places in theunfamiliar Church of England service. The Lord's Prayer "Our Father, which art"--set the seal on that desolation. Sophie found herselfthinking how in other lands their purchase would long ere this have beendiscussed from every point of view in a dozen prints, forgetting thatGeorge for months had not been allowed to glance at those black andbellowing head-lines. Here was nothing but silence--not even hostility!The game was up to them; the other players hid their cards and waited. Suspense, she felt, was in the air, and when her sight cleared, saw, indeed, a mural tablet of a footless bird brooding upon the carvenmotto, "Wayte awhyle--wayte awhyle. " At the Litany George had trouble with an unstable hassock, and drew theslip of carpet under the pewseat. Sophie pushed her end back also, andshut her eyes against a burning that felt like tears. When she openedthem she was looking at her mother's maiden name, fairly carved on ablue flagstone on the pew floor: Ellen Lashmar. Ob. 1796. Aetat 27. She nudged George and pointed. Sheltered, as they kneeled, they lookedfor more knowledge, but the rest of the slab was blank. "Ever hear of her?" he whispered. "Never knew any of us came from here. " "Coincidence?" "Perhaps. But it makes me feel better, " and she smiled and winked awaya tear on her lashes, and took his hand while they prayed for "all womenlabouring of child"--not "in the perils of childbirth"; and the sparrowswho had found their way through the guards behind the glass windowschirped above the faded gilt and alabaster family tree of the Conants. The baronet's pew was on the right of the aisle. After service itsinhabitants moved forth without haste, but so as to block effectively adusky person with a large family who champed in their rear. "Spices, I think, " said Sophie, deeply delighted as the Sangres closedup after the Conants. "Let 'em get away, George. " But when they came out many folk whose eyes were one still lingered bythe lychgate. "I want to see if any more Lashmars are buried here, " said Sophie. "Not now. This seems to be show day. Come home quickly, " he replied. A group of families, the Clokes a little apart, opened to let themthrough. The men saluted with jerky nods, the women with remnants of acurtsey. Only Iggulden's son, his mother on his arm, lifted his hat asSophie passed. "Your people, " said the clear voice of Lady Conant in her ear. "I suppose so, " said Sophie, blushing, for they were within two yards ofher; but it was not a question. "Then that child looks as if it were coming down with mumps. You oughtto tell the mother she shouldn't have brought it to church. " "I can't leave 'er behind, my lady, " the woman said. "She'd set the'ouse afire in a minute, she's that forward with the matches. Ain't you, Maudie dear?" "Has Dr. Dallas seen her?" "Not yet, my lady. " "He must. You can't get away, of course. M-m! My idiotic maid is comingin for her teeth to-morrow at twelve. She shall pick her up--at GaleAnstey, isn't it?--at eleven. " "Yes. Thank you very much, my lady. " "I oughtn't to have done it, " said Lady Conant apologetically, "butthere has been no one at Pardons for so long that you'll forgive mypoaching. Now, can't you lunch with us? The vicar usually comes too. I don't use the horses on a Sunday"--she glanced at the Brazilian'ssilver-plated chariot. "It's only a mile across the fields. " "You--you're very kind, " said Sophie, hating herself because her liptrembled. "My dear, " the compelling tone dropped to a soothing gurgle, "d'yousuppose I don't know how it feels to come to a strange county--countryI should say--away from one's own people? When I first left theShires--I'm Shropshire, you know--I cried for a day and a night. Butfretting doesn't make loneliness any better. Oh, here's Dora. She didsprain her leg that day. " "I'm as lame as a tree still, " said the tall maiden frankly. "You oughtto go out with the otter-hounds, Mrs. Chapin. I believe they're drawingyour water next week. " Sir Walter had already led off George, and the vicar came up on theother side of Sophie. There was no escaping the swift procession or theleisurely lunch, where talk came and went in low-voiced eddies thathad the village for their centre. Sophie heard the vicar and Sir Walteraddress her husband lightly as Chapin! (She also remembered many womenknown in a previous life who habitually addressed their husbands asMr. Such-an-one. ) After lunch Lady Conant talked to her explicitly ofmaternity as that is achieved in cottages and farm-houses remote fromaid, and of the duty thereto of the mistress of Pardons. A gate in a beech hedge, reached across triple lawns, let them outbefore tea-time into the unkempt south side of their land. "I want your hand, please, " said Sophie as soon as they were safe amongthe beech boles and the lawless hollies. "D'you remember the old maid in'Providence and the Guitar' who heard the Commissary swear, and hardlyreckoned herself a maiden lady afterward? Because I'm a relative ofhers. Lady Conant is--" "Did you find out anything about the Lashmars?" he interrupted. "I didn't ask. I'm going to write to Aunt Sydney about it first. Oh, Lady Conant said something at lunch about their having bought some landfrom some Lashmars a few years ago. I found it was at the beginning oflast century. " "What did you say?" "I said, 'Really, how interesting!' Like that. I'm not going to pushmyself forward. I've been hearing about Mr. Sangres's efforts in thatdirection. And you? I couldn't see you behind the flowers. Was it verydeep water, dear?" George mopped a brow already browned by outdoor exposures. "Oh no--dead easy, " he answered. "I've bought Friars Pardon to preventSir Walter's birds straying. " A cock pheasant scuttered through the dry leaves and exploded almostunder their feet. Sophie jumped. "That's one of 'em, " said George calmly. "Well, your nerves are better, at any rate, " said she. "Did you tell 'emyou'd bought the thing to play with?" "No. That was where my nerve broke down. I only made one bad break--Ithink. I said I couldn't see why hiring land to men to farm wasn't asmuch a business proposition as anything else. " "And what did they say?" "They smiled. I shall know what that smile means some day. They don'twaste their smiles. D'you see that track by Gale Anstey?" They looked down from the edge of the hanger over a cup-like hollow. People by twos and threes in their Sunday best filed slowly along thepaths that connected farm to farm. "I've never seen so many on our land before, " said Sophie. "Why is it?" "To show us we mustn't shut up their rights of way. " "Those cow-tracks we've been using cross lots?" said Sophie forcibly. "Yes. Any one of 'em would cost us two thousand pounds each in legalexpenses to close. " "But we don't want to, " she said. "The whole community would fight if we did. " "But it's our land. We can do what we like. " "It's not our land. We've only paid for it. We belong to it, and itbelongs to the people--our people they call 'em. I've been to lunch withthe English too. " They passed slowly from one bracken-dotted field to the next--flushedwith pride of ownership, plotting alterations and restorations at eachturn; halting in their tracks to argue, spreading apart to embrace twoviews at once, or closing in to consider one. Couples moved out of theirway, but smiling covertly. "We shall make some bad breaks, " he said at last. "Together, though. You won't let anyone else in, will you?" "Except the contractors. This syndicate handles, this proposition by itslittle lone. " "But you might feel the want of some one, " she insisted. "I shall--but it will be you. It's business, Sophie, but it's going tobe good fun. " "Please God, " she answered flushing, and cried to herself as they wentback to tea. "It's worth it. Oh, it's worth it. " The repairing and moving into Friars Pardon was business of the mostvaried and searching, but all done English fashion, without friction. Time and money alone were asked. The rest lay in the hands of beneficentadvisers from London, or spirits, male and female, called up by Mr. AndMrs. Cloke from the wastes of the farms. In the centre stood George andSophie, a little aghast, their interests reaching out on every side. "I ain't sayin' anything against Londoners, " said Cloke, self-appointedclerk of the outer works, consulting engineer, head of the immigrationbureau, and superintendent of woods and forests; "but your own peoplewon't go about to make more than a fair profit out of you. " "How is one to know?" said George. "Five years from now, or so on, maybe, you'll be lookin' over your firstyear's accounts, and, knowin' what you'll know then, you'll say: 'Well, Billy Beartup'--or Old Cloke as it might be--'did me proper when I wasnew. ' No man likes to have that sort of thing laid up against him. " "I think I see, " said George. "But five years is a long time to lookahead. " "I doubt if that oak Billy Beartup throwed in Reuben's Ghyll will be fitfor her drawin-room floor in less than seven, " Cloke drawled. "Yes, that's my work, " said Sophie. (Billy Beartup of Griffons, a woodman by training and birth, a tenant farmer by misfortune ofmarriage, had laid his broad axe at her feet a month before. ) "Sorry ifI've committed you to another eternity. " "And we shan't even know where we've gone wrong with your new carriagedrive before that time either, " said Cloke, ever anxious to keep thebalance true with an ounce or two in Sophie's favour. The past fourmonths had taught George better than to reply. The carriage road windingup the hill was his present keen interest. They set off to look at it, and the imported American scraper which had blighted the none too sunnysoul of "Skim" Winsh, the carter. But young Iggulden was in charge now, and under his guidance, Buller andRoberts, the great horses, moved mountains. "You lif' her like that, an' you tip her like that, " he explained to thegang. "My uncle he was roadmaster in Connecticut. " "Are they roads yonder?" said Skim, sitting under the laurels. "No better than accommodation roads. Dirt, they call 'em. They'd suityou, Skim. " "Why?" said the incautious Skim. "Cause you'd take no hurt when you fall out of your cart drunk on aSaturday, " was the answer. "I didn't last time neither, " Skim roared. After the loud laugh, old Whybarne of Gale Anstey piped feebly, "Well, dirt or no dirt, there's no denyin' Chapin knows a good job when hesees it. 'E don't build one day and dee-stroy the next, like that niggerSangres. " "SHE's the one that knows her own mind, " said Pinky, brother to SkimWinsh, and a Napoleon among carters who had helped to bring the grandpiano across the fields in the autumn rains. "She had ought to, " said Iggulden. "Whoa, Buller! She's a Lashmar. Theynever was double-thinking. " "Oh, you found that? Has the answer come from your uncle?" said Skim, doubtful whether so remote a land as America had posts. The others looked at him scornfully. Skim was always a day behind thefair. Iggulden rested from his labours. "She's a Lashmar right enough. I started up to write to my uncle--at once--the month after she said herfolks came from Veering Holler. " "Where there ain't any roads?" Skim interrupted, but none laughed. "My uncle he married an American woman for his second, and she tookit up like a like the coroner. She's a Lashmar out of the old Lashmarplace, 'fore they sold to Conants. She ain't no Toot Hill Lashmar, norany o' the Crayford lot. Her folk come out of the ground here, neitherchalk nor forest, but wildishers. They sailed over to America--I've gotit all writ down by my uncle's woman--in eighteen hundred an' nothing. My uncle says they're all slow begetters like. " "Would they be gentry yonder now?" Skim asked. "Nah--there's no gentry in America, no matter how long you're there. It's against their law. There's only rich and poor allowed. They'vebeen lawyers and such like over yonder for a hundred years but she's aLashmar for all that. " "Lord! What's a hundred years?" said Whybarne, who had seenseventy-eight of them. "An' they write too, from yonder--my uncle's woman writes--that you canstill tell 'em by headmark. Their hair's foxy-red still--an' they throwout when they walk. He's in-toed-treads like a gipsy; but you watch, an'you'll see 'er throw, out--like a colt. " "Your trace wants taking up. " Pinky's large ears had caught the soundof voices, and as the two broke through the laurels the men were hard atwork, their eyes on Sophie's feet. She had been less fortunate in her inquiries than Iggulden, for her AuntSydney of Meriden (a badged and certificated Daughter of the Revolutionto boot) answered her inquiries with a two-paged discourse onpatriotism, the leaflets of a Village Improvement Society, of which shewas president, and a demand for an overdue subscription to a FactoryGirls' Reading Circle. Sophie burned it all in the Orpheus and Eurydicegrate, and kept her own counsel. "What I want to know, " said George, when Spring was coming, and thegardens needed thought, "is who will ever pay me for my labour? I've putin at least half a million dollars' worth already. " "Sure you're not taking too much out of yourself?" his wife asked. "Oh, no; I haven't been conscious of myself all winter. " He looked athis brown English gaiters and smiled. "It's all behind me now. I believeI could sit down and think of all that--those months before we sailed. " "Don't--ah, don't!" she cried. "But I must go back one day. You don't want to keep me out of businessalways--or do you?" He ended with a nervous laugh. Sophie sighed as she drew her own ground-ash (of old Iggulden's cutting)from the hall rack. "Aren't you overdoing it too? You look a little tired, " he said. "You make me tired. I'm going to Rocketts to see Mrs. Cloke about Mary. "(This was the sister of the telegraphist, promoted to be sewing-maid atPardons. ) "Coming?" "I'm due at Burnt House to see about the new well. By the way, there's asore throat at Gale Anstey--" "That's my province. Don't interfere. The Whybarne children always havesore throats. They do it for jujubes. " "Keep away from Gale Anstey till I make sure, honey. Cloke ought to havetold me. " "These people don't tell. Haven't you learnt that yet? But I'll obey, melord. See you later!" She set off afoot, for within the three main roads that bounded theblunt triangle of the estate (even by night one could scarcely hear thecarts on them), wheels were not used except for farm work. The footpathsserved all other purposes. And though at first they had plannedimprovements, they had soon fallen in with the customs of their hiddenkingdom, and moved about the soft-footed ways by woodland, hedgerow, andshaw as freely as the rabbits. Indeed, for the most part Sophie walkedbareheaded beneath her helmet of chestnut hair; but she had been plaguedof late by vague toothaches, which she explained to Mrs. Cloke, whoasked some questions. How it came about Sophie never knew, but after awhile behold Mrs. Cloke's arm was about her waist, and her head was onthat deep bosom behind the shut kitchen door. "My dear! My dear!" the elder woman almost sobbed. "An' d'you meanto tell me you never suspicioned? Why--why--where was you ever taughtanything at all? Of course it is. It's what we've been only waitin' for, all of us. Time and again I've said to Lady--" she checked herself. "An'now we shall be as we should be. " "But--but--but--" Sophie whimpered. "An' to see you buildin' your nest so busy--pianos and books--an' neverthinkin' of a nursery!" "No more I did. " Sophie sat bolt upright, and began to laugh. "Time enough yet. " The fingers tapped thoughtfully on the broad knee. "But--they must be strange-minded folk over yonder with you! Have youthought to send for your mother? She dead? My dear, my dear! Nevermind! She'll be happy where she knows. 'Tis God's work. An' we was onlywaitin' for it, for you've never failed in your duty yet. It ain'tyour way. What did you say about my Mary's doings?" Mrs. Cloke's facehardened as she pressed her chin on Sophie's forehead. "If any of yourgirls thinks to be'ave arbitrary now, I'll--But they won't, my dear. I'll see they do their duty too. Be sure you'll 'ave no trouble. " When Sophie walked back across the fields heaven and earth changed abouther as on the day of old Iggulden's death. For an instant she thoughtof the wide turn of the staircase, and the new ivory-white paint thatno coffin corner could scar, but presently, the shadow passed in a purewonder and bewilderment that made her reel. She leaned against one oftheir new gates and looked over their lands for some other stay. "Well, " she said resignedly, half aloud, "we must try to make him feelthat he isn't a third in our party, " and turned the corner that lookedover Friars Pardon, giddy, sick, and faint. Of a sudden the house they had bought for a whim stood up as she hadnever seen it before, low-fronted, broad-winged, ample, prepared bycourse of generations for all such things. As it had steadied her whenit lay desolate, so now that it had meaning from their few months oflife within, it soothed and promised good. She went alone and quicklyinto the hall, and kissed either door-post, whispering: "Be good to me. You know! You've never failed in your duty yet. " When the matter was explained to George, he would have sailed at once totheir own land, but this Sophie forbade. "I don't want science, " she said. "I just want to be loved, and thereisn't time for that at home. Besides, " she added, looking out of thewindow, "it would be desertion. " George was forced to soothe himself with linking Friars Pardon to thetelegraph system of Great Britain by telephone--three-quarters of amile of poles, put in by Whybarne and a few friends. One of these wasa foreigner from the next parish. Said he when the line was being run:"There's an old ellum right in our road. Shall us throw her?" "Toot Hill parish folk, neither grace nor good luck, God help 'em. " OldWhybarne shouted the local proverb from three poles down the line. "Weain't goin' to lay any axe-iron to coffin-wood here not till we knowwhere we are yet awhile. Swing round 'er, swing round!" To this day, then, that sudden kink in the straight line across theupper pasture remains a mystery to Sophie and George. Nor can they tellwhy Skim Winsh, who came to his cottage under Dutton Shaw most musicallydrunk at 10. 45 P. M of every Saturday night, as his father had donebefore him, sang no more at the bottom of the garden steps, where Sophiealways feared he would break his neck. The path was undoubtedly anancient right of way, and at 10. 45 P. M. On Saturdays Skim remembered itwas his duty to posterity to keep it open--till Mrs. Cloke spoke to himonce. She spoke likewise to her daughter Mary, sewing maid at Pardons, and to Mary's best new friend, the five-foot-seven imported Londonhouse-maid, who taught Mary to trim hats, and found the country dullish. But there was no noise--at no time was there any noise--and when Sophiewalked abroad she met no one in her path unless she had signified a wishthat way. Then they appeared to protest that all was well with them andtheir children, their chickens, their roofs, their water-supply, andtheir sons in the police or the railway service. "But don't you find it dull, dear?" said George, loyally doing his bestnot to worry as the months went by. "I've been so busy putting my house in order I haven't had time tothink, " said she. "Do you?" "No--no. If I could only be sure of you. " She turned on the green drawing-room's couch (it was Empire, notHeppelwhite after all), and laid aside a list of linen and blankets. "It has changed everything, hasn't it?" she whispered. "Oh, Lord, yes. But I still think if we went back to Baltimore--" "And missed our first real summer together. No thank you, me lord. " "But we're absolutely alone. " "Isn't that what I'm doing my best to remedy? Don't you worry. I likeit--like it to the marrow of my little bones. You don't realize what herhouse means to a woman. We thought we were living in it last year, butwe hadn't begun to. Don't you rejoice in your study, George?" "I prefer being here with you. " He sat down on the floor by the couchand took her hand. "Seven, " she said, as the French clock struck. "Year before last you'djust be coming back from business. " He winced at the recollection, then laughed. "Business! I've been atwork ten solid hours to-day. " "Where did you lunch? With the Conants?" "No; at Dutton Shaw, sitting on a log, with my feet in a swamp. Butwe've found out where the old spring is, and we're going to pipe it downto Gale Anstey next year. " "I'll come and see to-morrow. Oh, please open the door, dear. I want tolook down the passage. Isn't that corner by the stair-head lovely wherethe sun strikes in?" She looked through half-closed eyes at the vista ofivory-white and pale green all steeped in liquid gold. "There's a step out of Jane Elphick's bedroom, " she went on--"and hisfirst step in the world ought to be up. I shouldn't wonder if thosepeople hadn't put it there on purpose. George, will it make any odds toyou if he's a girl?" He answered, as he had many times before, that his interest was hiswife, not the child. "Then you're the only person who thinks so. " She laughed. "Don't besilly, dear. It's expected. I know. It's my duty. I shan't be able tolook our people in the face if I fail. " "What concern is it of theirs, confound 'em!" "You'll see. Luckily the tradition of the house is boys, Mrs. Clokesays, so I'm provided for. Shall you ever begin to understand thesepeople? I shan't. " "And we bought it for fun--for fun!" he groaned. "And here we are heldup for goodness knows how long!" "Why? Were you thinking of selling it?" He did not answer. "Do youremember the second Mrs. Chapin?" she demanded. This was a bold, brazen little black-browed woman--a widow forchoice--who on Sophie's death was guilefully to marry George for hiswealth and ruin him in a year. George being busy, Sophie had inventedher some two years after her marriage, and conceived she was alone amongwives in so doing. "You aren't going to bring her up again?" he asked anxiously. "I only want to say that I should hate any one who bought Pardons tentimes worse than I used to hate the second Mrs. Chapin. Think what we'veput into it of our two selves. " "At least a couple of million dollars. I know I could have made--" Hebroke off. "The beasts!" she went on. "They'd be sure to build a red-brick lodgeat the gates, and cut the lawn up for bedding out. You must leaveinstructions in your will that he's never to do that, George, won'tyou?" He laughed and took her hand again but said nothing till it was time todress. Then he muttered "What the devil use is a man's country to himwhen he can't do business in it?" Friars Pardon stood faithful to its tradition. At the appointed time wasborn, not that third in their party to whom Sophie meant to be so kind, but a godling; in beauty, it was manifest, excelling Eros, as in wisdomConfucius; an enhancer of delights, a renewer of companionships and aninterpreter of Destiny. This last George did not realise till he metLady Conant striding through Dutton Shaw a few days after the event. "My dear fellow, " she cried, and slapped him heartily on the back, "Ican't tell you how glad we all are. Oh, she'll be all right. (There'snever been any trouble over the birth of an heir at Pardons. ) Now wherethe dooce is it?" She felt largely in her leather-boundskirt and drewout a small silver mug. "I sent a note to your wife about it, but mysilly ass of a groom forgot to take this. You can save me a tramp. Giveher my love. " She marched off amid her guard of grave Airedales. The mug was worn and dented: above the twined initials, G. L. , was thecrest of a footless bird and the motto: "Wayte awhyle--wayte awhyle. " "That's the other end of the riddle, " Sophie whispered, when he saw herthat evening. "Read her note. The English write beautiful notes. " The warmest of welcomes to your little man. I hope he will appreciatehis native land now he has come to it. Though you have said nothing wecannot, of course, look on him as a little stranger, and so I am sendinghim the old Lashmar christening mug. It has been with us since GregoryLashmar, your great-grandmother's brother-- George stared at his wife. "Go on, " she twinkled, from the pillows. --mother's brother, sold his place to Walter's family. We seem to haveacquired some of your household gods at that time, but nothing survivesexcept the mug and the old cradle, which I found in the potting-shed andam having put in order for you. I hope little George--Lashmar, he willbe too, won't he?--will live to see his grandchildren cut their teeth onhis mug. Affectionately yours, ALICE CONANT. P. S. --How quiet you've kept about it all! "Well, I'm--" "Don't swear, " said Sophie. "Bad for the infant mind. " "But how in the world did she get at it? Have you ever said a word aboutthe Lashmars?" "You know the only time--to young Iggulden at Rocketts--when Igguldendied. " "Your great-grandmother's brother! She's traced the wholeconnection--more than your Aunt Sydney could do. What does she meanabout our keeping quiet?" Sophie's eyes sparkled. "I've thought that out too. We've got back atthe English at last. Can't you see that she thought that we thought mymother's being a Lashmar was one of those things we'd expect the Englishto find out for themselves, and that's impressed her?" She turnedthe mug in her white hands, and sighed happily. "'Wayte awhyle--wayteawhyle. ' That's not a bad motto, George. It's been worth it. " "But still I don't quite see--" "I shouldn't wonder if they don't think our coming here was part of adeep-laid scheme to be near our ancestors. They'd understand that. Andlook how they've accepted us, all of them. " "Are we so undesirable in ourselves?" George grunted. "Be just, me lord. That wretched Sangres man has twice our money. Canyou see Marm Conant slapping him between the shoulders? Not by a jugful!The poor beast doesn't exist!" "Do you think it's that then?" He looked toward the cot by the firewhere the godling snorted. "The minute I get well I shall find out from Mrs. Cloke what everyLashmar gives in doles (that's nicer than tips) every time a Lashmite isborn. I've done my duty thus far, but there's much expected of me. " Entered here Mrs. Cloke, and hung worshipping over the cot. They showedher the mug and her face shone. "Oh, now Lady Conant's sent it, it'llbe all proper, ma'am, won't it? 'George' of course he'd have to be, butseein' what he is we was hopin'--all your people was hopin'--it 'ud be'Lashmar' too, and that'ud just round it out. A very 'andsome mug quiteunique, I should imagine. 'Wayte awhyle--wayte awhyle. ' That's true withthe Lashmars, I've heard. Very slow to fill their houses, they are. Mostlike Master George won't open 'is nursery till he's thirty. " "Poor lamb!" cried Sophie. "But how did you know my folk were Lashmars?" Mrs. Cloke thought deeply. "I'm sure I can't quite say, ma'am, but I'vea belief likely that it was something you may have let drop to youngIggulden when you was at Rocketts. That may have been what give us aninkling. An' so it came out, one thing in the way o' talk leading toanother, and those American people at Veering Holler was very obligin'with news, I'm told, ma'am. " "Great Scott!" said George, under his breath. "And this is the simplepeasant!" "Yiss, " Mrs. Cloke went on. "An' Cloke was only wonderin' thisafternoon--your pillow's slipped my dear, you mustn't lie thata-way--just for the sake o' sayin' something, whether you wouldn't thinkwell now of getting the Lashmar farms back, sir. They don't rightlyround off Sir Walter's estate. They come caterin' across us more. Cloke, 'e 'ud be glad to show you over any day. " "But Sir Walter doesn't want to sell, does he?" "We can find out from his bailiff, sir, but"--with cold contempt--"Ithink that trained nurse is just comin' up from her dinner, so 'm afraidwe'll 'ave to ask you, sir. .. Now, Master George--Ai-ie! Wake a littyminute, lammie!" A few months later the three of them were down at the brook in the GaleAnstey woods to consider the rebuilding of a footbridge carried away byspring floods. George Lashmar Chapin wanted all the bluebells on God'searth that day to eat, and--Sophie adored him in a voice like to thecooing of a dove; so business was delayed. "Here's the place, " said his father at last among the waterforget-me-nots. "But where the deuce are the larch-poles, Cloke? I toldyou to have them down here ready. " "We'll get 'em down if f you say so, " Cloke answered, with a thrust ofthe underlip they both knew. "But I did say so. What on earth have you brought that timber-tug herefor? We aren't building a railway bridge. Why, in America, half-a-dozentwo-by-four bits would be ample. " "I don't know nothin' about that, " said Cloke. "An' I've nothin' to say against larch--IF you want to make a temp'ryjob of it. I ain't 'ere to tell you what isn't so, sir; an' you can'tsay I ever come creepin' up on you, or tryin' to lead you further inthan you set out--" A year ago George would have danced with impatience. Now he scraped alittle mud off his old gaiters with his spud, and waited. "All I say is that you can put up larch and make a temp'ry job of it;and by the time the young master's married it'll have to be done again. Now, I've brought down a couple of as sweet six-by-eight oak timbersas we've ever drawed. You put 'em in an' it's off your mind or good an'all. T'other way--I don't say it ain't right, I'm only just sayin' whatI think--but t'other way, he'll no sooner be married than we'll lave itall to do again. You've no call to regard my words, but you can't getout of that. " "No, " said George after a pause; "I've been realising that for sometime. Make it oak then; we can't get out of it. " THE RECALL I am the land of their fathers, In me the virtue stays; I will bring back my children, After certain days. Under their feet in the grasses My clinging magic runs. They shall return as strangers, They shall remain as sons. Over their heads in the branches Of their new-bought, ancient trees, I weave an incantation, And draw them to my knees. Scent of smoke in the evening, Smell of rain in the night, The hours, the days and the seasons Order their souls aright; Till I make plain the meaning Of all my thousand years Till I fill their hearts with knowledge, While I fill their eyes with tears. GARM--A HOSTAGE One night, a very long time ago, I drove to an Indian militarycantonment called Mian Mir to see amateur theatricals. At the back ofthe Infantry barracks a soldier, his cap over one eye, rushed in frontof the horses and shouted that he was a dangerous highway robber. As amatter of fact, he was a friend of mine, so I told him to go home beforeany one caught him; but he fell under the pole, and I heard voices of amilitary guard in search of some one. The driver and I coaxed him into the carriage, drove home swiftly, undressed him and put him to bed, where he waked next morning witha sore headache, very much ashamed. When his uniform was cleaned anddried, and he had been shaved and washed and made neat, I drove him backto barracks with his arm in a fine white sling, and reported that Ihad accidentally run over him. I did not tell this story to myfriend's sergeant, who was a hostile and unbelieving person, but to hislieutenant, who did not know us quite so well. Three days later my friend came to call, and at his heels slobbered andfawned one of the finest bull-terriers--of the old-fashioned breed, twoparts bull and one terrier--that I had ever set eyes on. He was purewhite, with a fawn-coloured saddle just behind his neck, and a fawndiamond at the root of his thin whippy tail. I had admired him distantlyfor more than a year; and Vixen, my own fox-terrier, knew him too, butdid not approve. "'E's for you, " said my friend; but he did not look as though he likedparting with him. "Nonsense! That dog's worth more than most men, Stanley, " I said. "'E's that and more. 'Tention!" The dog rose on his hind legs, and stood upright for a full minute. "Eyes right!" He sat on his haunches and turned his head sharp to the right. At a signhe rose and barked thrice. Then he shook hands with his right paw andbounded lightly to my shoulder. Here he made himself into a necktie, limp and lifeless, hanging down on either side of my neck. I was told topick him up and throw him in the air. He fell with a howl, and held upone leg. "Part o' the trick, " said his owner. "You're going to die now. Digyourself your little grave an' shut your little eye. " Still limping, the dog hobbled to the garden-edge, dug a hole and laydown in it. When told that he was cured, he jumped out, wagging histail, and whining for applause. He was put through half-a-dozen othertricks, such as showing how he would hold a man safe (I was that man, and he sat down before me, his teeth bared, ready to spring), and howhe would stop eating at the word of command. I had no more than finishedpraising him when my friend made a gesture that stopped the dog asthough he had been shot, took a piece of blue-ruled canteen-paper fromhis helmet, handed it to me and ran away, while the dog looked after himand howled. I read: SIR--I give you the dog because of what you got me out of. He is thebest I know, for I made him myself, and he is as good as a man. Pleasedo not give him too much to eat, and please do not give him back to me, for I'm not going to take him, if you will keep him. So please do nottry to give him back any more. I have kept his name back, so you cancall him anything and he will answer, but please do not give him back. He can kill a man as easy as anything, but please do not give him toomuch meat. He knows more than a man. Vixen sympathetically joined her shrill little yap to the bull-terrier'sdespairing cry, and I was annoyed, for I knew that a man who cares fordogs is one thing, but a man who loves one dog is quite another. Dogsare at the best no more than verminous vagrants, self-scratchers, foulfeeders, and unclean by the law of Moses and Mohammed; but a dog withwhom one lives alone for at least six months in the year; a free thing, tied to you so strictly by love that without you he will not stir orexercise; a patient, temperate, humorous, wise soul, who knows yourmoods before you know them yourself, is not a dog under any ruling. I had Vixen, who was all my dog to me; and I felt what my friend musthave felt, at tearing out his heart in this style and leaving it inmy garden. However, the dog understood clearly enough that I was hismaster, and did not follow the soldier. As soon as he drew breath I mademuch of him, and Vixen, yelling with jealousy, flew at him. Had she beenof his own sex, he might have cheered himself with a fight, but he onlylooked worriedly when she nipped his deep iron sides, laid his heavyhead on my knee, and howled anew. I meant to dine at the Club thatnight; but as darkness drew in, and the dog snuffed through the emptyhouse like a child trying to recover from a fit of sobbing, I felt thatI could not leave him to suffer his first evening alone. So we fed athome, Vixen on one side, and the stranger-dog on the other; she watchinghis every mouthful, and saying explicitly what she thought of his tablemanners, which were much better than hers. It was Vixen's custom, till the weather grew hot, to sleep in my bed, her head on the pillow like a Christian; and when morning came I wouldalways find that the little thing had braced her feet against the walland pushed me to the very edge of the cot. This night she hurried to bedpurposefully, every hair up, one eye on the stranger, who had droppedon a mat in a helpless, hopeless sort of way, all four feet spread out, sighing heavily. She settled her head on the pillow several times, to show her little airs and graces, and struck up her usual whineysing-song before slumber. The stranger-dog softly edged toward me. Iput out my hand and he licked it. Instantly my wrist was between Vixen'steeth, and her warning aaarh! said as plainly as speech, that if I tookany further notice of the stranger she would bite. I caught her behind her fat neck with my left hand, shook her severely, and said: "Vixen, if you do that again you'll be put into the verandah. Now, remember!" She understood perfectly, but the minute I released her she mouthed myright wrist once more, and waited with her ears back and all her bodyflattened, ready to bite. The big dog's tail thumped the floor in ahumble and peace-making way. I grabbed Vixen a second time, lifted her out of bed like a rabbit(she hated that and yelled), and, as I had promised, set her out in theverandah with the bats and the moonlight. At this she howled. Thenshe used coarse language--not to me, but to the bullterrier--till shecoughed with exhaustion. Then she ran round the house trying every door. Then she went off to the stables and barked as though some one werestealing the horses, which was an old trick of hers. Last she returned, and her snuffing yelp said, "I'll be good! Let me in and I'll' be good!" She was admitted and flew to her pillow. When she was quieted Iwhispered to the other dog, "You can lie on the foot of the bed. " Thebull jumped up at once, and though I felt Vixen quiver with rage, sheknew better than to protest. So we slept till the morning, and they hadearly breakfast with me, bite for bite, till the horse came round andwe went for a ride. I don't think the bull had ever followed a horsebefore. He was wild with excitement, and Vixen, as usual, squealed andscuttered and scooted, and took charge of the procession. There was one corner of a village near by, which we generally passedwith caution, because all the yellow pariah-dogs of the place gatheredabout it. They were half-wild, starving beasts, and though utter cowards, yetwhere nine or ten of them get together they will mob and kill and eat anEnglish dog. I kept a whip with a long lash for them. That morning they attacked Vixen, who, perhaps of design, had moved frombeyond my horse's shadow. The bull was ploughing along in the dust, fifty yards behind, rolling inhis run, and smiling as bull-terriers will. I heard Vixen squeal; half adozen of the curs closed in on her; a white streak came up behind me;a cloud of dust rose near Vixen, and, when it cleared, I saw one tallpariah with his back broken, and the bull wrenching another to earth. Vixen retreated to the protection of my whip, and the bull paddled backsmiling more than ever, covered with the blood of his enemies. Thatdecided me to call him "Garin of the Bloody Breast, " who was a greatperson in his time, or "Garm" for short; so, leaning forward, I told himwhat his temporary name would be. He looked up while I repeated it, andthen raced away. I shouted "Garin!" He stopped, raced back, and came upto ask my will. Then I saw that my soldier friend was right, and that that dog knew andwas worth more than a man. At the end of the ride I gave an order whichVixen knew and hated: "Go away and get washed!" I said. Garin understoodsome part of it, and Vixen interpreted the rest, and the two trotted offtogether soberly. When I went to the back verandah Vixen had been washedsnowy-white, and was very proud of herself, but the dog-boy would nottouch Garm on any account unless I stood by. So I waited while he wasbeing scrubbed, and Garm, with the soap creaming on the top of his broadhead, looked at me to make sure that this was what I expected him toendure. He knew perfectly that the dog-boy was only obeying orders. "Another time, " I said to the dog-boy, "you will wash the great dog withVixen when I send them home. " "Does he know?" said the dog-boy, who understood the ways of dogs. "Garm, " I said, "another time you will be washed with Vixen. " I knew that Garm understood. Indeed, next washing-day, when Vixen asusual fled under my bed, Garm stared at the doubtful dog-boy in theverandah, stalked to the place where he had been washed last time, andstood rigid in the tub. But the long days in my office tried him sorely. We three would driveoff in the morning at half-past eight and come home at six or later. Vixen knowing the routine of it, went to sleep under my table; butthe confinement ate into Garm's soul. He generally sat on the verandahlooking out on the Mall; and well I knew what he expected. Sometimes a company of soldiers would move along on their way to theFort, and Garm rolled forth to inspect them; or an officer in uniformentered into the office, and it was pitiful to see poor Garm's welcometo the cloth--not the man. He would leap at him, and sniff and barkjoyously, then run to the door and back again. One afternoon I heardhim bay with a full throat--a thing I had never heard before--and hedisappeared. When I drove into my garden at the end of the day a soldierin white uniform scrambled over the wall at the far end, and the Garmthat met me was a joyous dog. This happened twice or thrice a week for amonth. I pretended not to notice, but Garm knew and Vixen knew. He would glidehomewards from the office about four o'clock, as though he were onlygoing to look at the scenery, and this he did so quietly that but forVixen I should not have noticed him. The jealous little dog underthe table would give a sniff and a snort, just loud enough to call myattention to the flight. Garm might go out forty times in the day andVixen would never stir, but when he slunk off to see his true master inmy garden she told me in her own tongue. That was the one sign she madeto prove that Garm did not altogether belong to the family. They werethe best of friends at all times, but, Vixen explained that I was neverto forget Garm did not love me as she loved me. I never expected it. The dog was not my dog could never be my dog--and Iknew he was as miserable as his master who tramped eight miles a day tosee him. So it seemed to me that the sooner the two were reunited thebetter for all. One afternoon I sent Vixen home alone in the dog-cart(Garm had gone before), and rode over to cantonments to find anotherfriend of mine, who was an Irish soldier and a great friend of the dog'smaster. I explained the whole case, and wound up with: "And now Stanley's in my garden crying over his dog. Why doesn't he takehim back? They're both unhappy. " "Unhappy! There's no sense in the little man any more. But 'tis hisfit. " "What is his fit? He travels fifty miles a week to see the brute, andhe pretends not to notice me when he sees me on the road; and I'm asunhappy as he is. Make him take the dog back. " "It's his penance he's set himself. I told him by way of a joke, aftheryou'd run over him so convenient that night, whin he was drunk--I saidif he was a Catholic he'd do penance. Off he went wid that fit in hislittle head an' a dose of fever, an nothin' would suit but givin' youthe dog as a hostage. " "Hostage for what? I don't want hostages from Stanley. " "For his good behaviour. He's keepin' straight now, the way it's nopleasure to associate wid him. " "Has he taken the pledge?" "If 'twas only that I need not care. Ye can take the pledge for threemonths on an' off. He sez he'll never see the dog again, an' so markyou, he'll keep straight for evermore. Ye know his fits? Well, this iswan of them. How's the dog takin' it?" "Like a man. He's the best dog in India. Can't you make Stanley take himback?" "I can do no more than I have done. But ye know his fits. He's justdoin' his penance. What will he do when he goes to the Hills? Thedoctor's put him on the list. " It is the custom in India to send a certain number of invalids from eachregiment up to stations in the Himalayas for the hot weather; and thoughthe men ought to enjoy the cool and the comfort, they miss the societyof the barracks down below, and do their best to come back or to avoidgoing. I felt that this move would bring matters to a head, so I leftTerrence hopefully, though he called after me "He won't take the dog, sorr. You can lay your month's pay on that. Ye know his fits. " I never pretended to understand Private Ortheris; and so I did the nextbest thing I left him alone. That summer the invalids of the regiment to which my friend belongedwere ordered off to the Hills early, because the doctors thoughtmarching in the cool of the day would do them good. Their route laysouth to a place called Umballa, a hundred and twenty miles or more. Then they would turn east and march up into the hills to Kasauli orDugshai or Subathoo. I dined with the officers the night before theyleft--they were marching at five in the morning. It was midnight when Idrove into my garden, and surprised a white figure flying over the wall. "That man, " said my butler, "has been here since nine, making talk tothat dog. He is quite mad. " "I did not tell him to go away because he has been here many timesbefore, and because the dog-boy told me that if I told him to go away, that great dog would immediately slay me. He did not wish to speak tothe Protector of the Poor, and he did not ask for anything to eat ordrink. " "Kadir Buksh, " said I, "that was well done, for the dog would surelyhave killed thee. But I do not think the white soldier will come anymore. " Garm slept ill that night and whimpered in his dreams. Once he sprang upwith a clear, ringing bark, and I heard him wag his tail till it wakedhim and the bark died out in a howl. He had dreamed he was with hismaster again, and I nearly cried. It was all Stanley's silly fault. The first halt which the detachment of invalids made was some milesfrom their barracks, on the Amritsar road, and ten miles distant from myhouse. By a mere chance one of the officers drove back for another gooddinner at the Club (cooking on the line of march is always bad), andthere I met him. He was a particular friend of mine, and I knew that heknew how to love a dog properly. His pet was a big fat retriever who wasgoing up to the Hills for his health, and, though it was still April, the round, brown brute puffed and panted in the Club verandah as thoughhe would burst. "It's amazing, " said the officer, "what excuses these invalids of minemake to get back to barracks. There's a man in my company now asked mefor leave to go back to cantonments to pay a debt he'd forgotten. Iwas so taken by the idea I let him go, and he jingled off in an ekka aspleased as Punch. Ten miles to pay a debt! Wonder what it was really?" "If you'll drive me home I think I can show you, " I said. So he went over to my house in his dog-cart with the retriever; and onthe way I told him the story of Garm. "I was wondering where that brute had gone to. He's the best dog in theregiment, " said my friend. "I offered the little fellow twenty rupeesfor him a month ago. But he's a hostage, you say, for Stanley's goodconduct. Stanley's one of the best men I have when he chooses. " "That's the reason why, " I said. "A second-rate man wouldn't have takenthings to heart as he has done. " We drove in quietly at the far end of the garden, and crept round thehouse. There was a place close to the wall all grown about with tamarisktrees, where I knew Garm kept his bones. Even Vixen was not allowed tosit near it. In the full Indian moonlight I could see a white uniformbending over the dog. "Good-bye, old man, " we could not help hearing Stanley's voice. "For'Eving's sake don't get bit and go mad by any measly pi-dog. But you canlook after yourself, old man. You don't get drunk an' run about 'ittin'your friends. You takes your bones an' you eats your biscuit, an' youkills your enemy like a gentleman. I'm goin' away--don't 'owl--I'm goin'off to Kasauli, where I won't see you no more. " I could hear him holding Garm's nose as the dog threw it up to thestars. "You'll stay here an' be'ave, an'--an' I'll go away an' try to be'ave, an' I don't know 'ow to leave you. I don't know--" "I think this is damn silly, " said the officer, patting his foolishfubsy old retriever. He called to the private, who leaped to his feet, marched forward, and saluted. "You here?" said the officer, turning away his head. "Yes, sir, but I'm just goin' back. " "I shall be leaving here at eleven in my cart. You come with me. I can'thave sick men running about fall over the place. Report yourself ateleven, here. " We did not say much when we went indoors, but the officer muttered andpulled his retriever's ears. He was a disgraceful, overfed doormat of a dog; and when he waddled offto my cookhouse to be fed, I had a brilliant idea. At eleven o'clock that officer's dog was nowhere to be found, and younever heard such a fuss as his owner made. He called and shouted andgrew angry, and hunted through my garden for half an hour. Then I said: "He's sure to turn up in the morning. Send a man in by rail, and I'llfind the beast and return him. " "Beast?" said the officer. "I value that dog considerably more than Ivalue any man I know. It's all very fine for you to talk--your dog'shere. " So she was--under my feet--and, had she been missing, food and wageswould have stopped in my house till her return. But some people growfond of dogs not worth a cut of the whip. My friend had to drive away atlast with Stanley in the back seat; and then the dog-boy said to me: "What kind of animal is Bullen Sahib's dog? Look at him!" I went to the boy's hut, and the fat old reprobate was lying on a matcarefully chained up. He must have heard his master calling for twentyminutes, but had not even attempted to join him. "He has no face, " said the dog-boy scornfully. "He is a punniar-kooter(a spaniel). He never tried to get that cloth off his jaws when hismaster called. Now Vixen-baba would have jumped through the window, andthat Great Dog would have slain me with his muzzled mouth. It is truethat there are many kinds of dogs. " Next evening who should turn up but Stanley. The officer had senthim back fourteen miles by rail with a note begging me to return theretriever if I had found him, and, if I had not, to offer huge rewards. The last train to camp left at half-past ten, and Stanley, stayed tillten talking to Garm. I argued and entreated, and even threatened toshoot the bull-terrier, but the little man was as firm as a rock, thoughI gave him a good dinner and talked to him most severely. Garm knew aswell as I that this was the last time he could hope to see his man, andfollowed Stanley like a shadow. The retriever said nothing, but lickedhis lips after his meal and waddled off without so much as saying "Thankyou" to the disgusted dog-boy. So that last meeting was over, and I felt as wretched as Garm, whomoaned in his sleep all night. When we went to the office he found aplace under the table close to Vixen, and dropped flat till it wastime to go home. There was no more running out into the verandahs, noslinking away for stolen talks with Stanley. As the weather grew warmerthe dogs were forbidden to run beside the cart, but sat at my side onthe seat, Vixen with her head under the crook of my left elbow, and Garmhugging the left handrail. Here Vixen was ever in great form. She had to attend to all the movingtraffic, such as bullock-carts that blocked the way, and camels, and ledponies; as well as to keep up her dignity when she passed low friendsrunning in the dust. She never yapped for yapping's sake, but hershrill, high bark was known all along the Mall, and other men's terrierski-yied in reply, and bullock-drivers looked over their shoulders andgave us the road with a grin. But Garm cared for none of these things. His big eyes were on thehorizon and his terrible mouth was shut. There was another dog in theoffice who belonged to my chief. We called him "Bob the Librarian, "because he always imagined vain rats behind the bookshelves, and inhunting for them would drag out half the old newspaper-files. Bob was awell-meaning idiot, but Garm did not encourage him. He would slide hishead round the door panting, "Rats! Come along Garm!" and Garm wouldshift one forepaw over the other, and curl himself round, leaving Bob towhine at a most uninterested back. The office was nearly as cheerful asa tomb in those days. Once, and only once, did I see Garm at all contented with hissurroundings. He had gone for an unauthorised walk with Vixen early oneSunday morning, and a very young and foolish artilleryman (his batteryhad just moved to that part of the world) tried to steal them both. Vixen, of course, knew better than to take food from soldiers, and, besides, she had just finished her breakfast. So she trotted back with alarge piece of the mutton that they issue to our troops, laid it downon my verandah, and looked up to see what I thought. I asked her whereGarin was, and she ran in front of the horse to show me the way. About a mile up the road we came across our artilleryman sitting verystiffly on the edge of a culvert with a greasy handkerchief on hisknees. Garin was in front of him, looking rather pleased. When the manmoved leg or hand, Garin bared his teeth in silence. A broken stringhung from his collar, and the other half of, it lay, all warm, in theartilleryman's still hand. He explained to me, keeping his eyes straightin front of him, that he had met this dog (he called him awful names)walking alone, and was going to take him to the Fort to be killed for amasterless pariah. I said that Garin did not seem to me much of a pariah, but that he hadbetter take him to the Fort if he thought best. He said he did not careto do so. I told him to go to the Fort alone. He said he did not want togo at that hour, but would follow my advice as soon as I had called offthe dog. I instructed Garin to take him to the Fort, and Garm marchedhim solemnly up to the gate, one mile and a half under a hot sun, and Itold the quarter-guard what had happened; but the young artilleryman wasmore angry than was at all necessary when they began to laugh. Severalregiments, he was told, had tried to steal Garm in their time. That month the hot weather shut down in earnest, and the dogs sleptin the bathroom on the cool wet bricks where the bath is placed. Everymorning, as soon as the man filled my bath the two jumped in, and everymorning the man filled the bath a second time. I said to him that hemight as well fill a small tub specially for the dogs. "Nay, " said hesmiling, "it is not their custom. They would not understand. Besides, the big bath gives them more space. " The punkah-coolies who pull the punkahs day and night came to know Garinintimately. He noticed that when the swaying fan stopped I would callout to the coolie and bid him pull with a long stroke. If the man stillslept I would wake him up. He discovered, too, that it was a good thingto lie in the wave of air under the punkah. Maybe Stanley had taught himall about this in barracks. At any rate, when the punkah stopped, Garinwould first growl and cock his eye at the rope, and if that did notwake the man it nearly always did--he would tiptoe forth and talk inthe sleeper's ear. Vixen was a clever little dog, but she could neverconnect the punkah and the coolie; so Garin gave me grateful hours ofcool sleep. But--he was utterly wretched--as miserable as a human being;and in his misery he clung so closely to me that other men noticed it, and were envious. If I moved from one room to another Garin followed;if my pen stopped scratching, Garm's head was thrust into my hand; ifI turned, half awake, on the pillow, Garm was up and at my side, for heknew that I was his only link with his master, and day and night, andnight and day, his eyes asked one question--"When is this going to end?" Living with the dog as I did, I never noticed that he was more thanordinarily upset by the hot weather, till one day at the Club a mansaid: "That dog of yours will die in a week or two. He's a shadow. " ThenI dosed Garin with iron and quinine, which he hated; and I felt veryanxious. He lost his appetite, and Vixen was allowed to eat his dinnerunder his eyes. Even that did not make him swallow, and we held aconsultation on him, of the best man-doctor in the place; a lady-doctor, who cured the sick wives of kings; and the Deputy Inspector-General ofthe veterinary service of all India. They pronounced upon his symptoms, and I told them his story, and Garm lay on a sofa licking my hand. "He's dying of a broken heart, " said the lady-doctor suddenly. "'Pon my word, " said the Deputy Inspector General, "I believe Mrs. Macrae is perfectly right as usual. " The best man-doctor in the place wrote a prescription, and theveterinary Deputy Inspector-General went over it afterwards to be surethat the drugs were in the proper dog-proportions; and that was thefirst time in his life that our doctor ever allowed his prescriptionsto be edited. It was a strong tonic, and it put the dear boy on his feetfor a week or two; then he lost flesh again. I asked a man I knew totake him up to the Hills with him when he went, and the man came to thedoor with his kit packed on the top of the carriage. Garin took in thesituation at one red glance. The hair rose along his back; he sat downin front of me and delivered the most awful growl I have ever heard inthe jaws of a dog. I shouted to my friend to get away at once, and assoon as the carriage was out of the garden Garin laid his head on myknee and whined. So I knew his answer, and devoted myself to gettingStanley's address in the Hills. My turn to go to the cool came late in August. We were allowed thirtydays' holiday in a year, if no one fell sick, and we took it as we couldbe spared. My chief and Bob the Librarian had their holiday first, andwhen they were gone I made a calendar, as I always did, and hung it upat the head of my cot, tearing off one day at a time till they returned. Vixen had gone up to the Hills with me five times before; and sheappreciated the cold and the damp and the beautiful wood fires there asmuch as I did. "Garm, " I said, "we are going back to Stanley at Kasauli. Kasauli--Stanley; Stanley Kasauli. " And I repeated it twenty times. It was not Kasauli really, but another place. Still I remembered whatStanley had said in my garden on the last night, and I dared not changethe name. Then Garm began to tremble; then he barked; and then he leapedup at me, frisking and wagging his tail. "Not now, " I said, holding up my hand. "When I say 'Go, ' we'll go, Garm. " I pulled out the little blanket coat and spiked collar that Vixenalways wore up in the Hills to protect her against sudden chills andthieving leopards, and I let the two smell them and talk it over. Whatthey said of course I do not know; but it made a new dog of Garm. Hiseyes were bright; and he barked joyfully when I spoke to him. He ate hisfood, and he killed his rats for the next three weeks, and when he beganto whine I had only to say "Stanley--Kasauli; Kasauli--Stanley, " to wakehim up. I wish I had thought of it before. My chief came back, all brown with living in the open air, and veryangry at finding it so hot in the plains. That same afternoon we threeand Kadir Buksh began to pack for our month's holiday, Vixen rolling inand out of the bullock-trunk twenty times a minute, and Garm grinningall over and thumping on the floor with his tail. Vixen knew the routineof travelling as well as she knew my office-work. She went to thestation, singing songs, on the front seat of the carriage, while Garinsat with me. She hurried into the railway carriage, saw Kadir Buksh makeup my bed for the night, got her drink of water, and curled up with herblack-patch eye on the tumult of the platform. Garin followed her (thecrowd gave him a lane all to himself) and sat down on the pillows withhis eyes blazing, and his tail a haze behind him. We came to Umballa in the hot misty dawn, four or five men, who had beenworking hard fox eleven months, shouting for our dales--the two-horsetravelling carriages that were to take us up to Kalka at the foot of theHills. It was all new to Garm. He did not understand carriages where youlay at full length on your bedding, but Vixen knew and hopped into herplace at once; Garin following. The Kalka Road, before the railway wasbuilt, was about forty-seven miles long, and the horses were changedevery eight miles. Most of them jibbed, and kicked, and plunged, butthey had to go, and they went rather better than usual for Garm's deepbay in their rear. There was a river to be forded, and four bullocks pulled the carriage, and Vixen stuck her head out of the sliding-door and nearly fell intothe water while she gave directions. Garin was silent and curious, and rather needed reassuring about Stanley and Kasauli. So we rolled, barking and yelping, into Kalka for lunch, and Garm ate enough for two. After Kalka the road wound among the hills, and we took a curricle withhalf-broken ponies, which were changed every six miles. No one dreamedof a railroad to Simla in those days, for it was seven thousand feet upin the air. The road was more than fifty miles long, and the regulationpace was just as fast as the ponies could go. Here, again, Vixen ledGarm from one carriage to the other; jumped into the back seat, andshouted. A cool breath from the snows met us about five miles out ofKalka, and she whined for her coat, wisely fearing a chill on theliver. I had had one made for Garm too, and, as we climbed to the freshbreezes, I put it on, and arm chewed it uncomprehendingly, but I thinkhe was grateful. "Hi-yi-yi-yi!" sang Vixen as we shot round the curves; "Toot-toot-toot!"went the driver's bugle at the dangerous places, and "yow! yow!" bayedGarm. Kadir Buksh sat on the front seat and smiled. Even he was glad toget away from the heat of the Plains that stewed in the haze behind us. Now and then we would meet a man we knew going down to his work again, and he would say: "What's it like below?" and I would shout: "Hotterthan cinders. What's it like up above?" and he would shout back: "Justperfect!" and away we would go. Suddenly Kadir Buksh said, over his shoulder: "Here is Solon"; and Garmsnored where he lay with his head on my knee. Solon is an unpleasantlittle cantonment, but it has the advantage of being cool and healthy. It is all bare and windy, and one generally stops at a rest-house nearbyfor something to eat. I got out and took both dogs with me, while KadirBuksh made tea. A soldier told, us we should find Stanley "out there, "nodding his head towards a bare, bleak hill. When we climbed to the top we spied that very Stanley, who had given meall this trouble, sitting on a rock with his face in his hands, and hisovercoat hanging loose about him. I never saw anything so lonely anddejected in my life as this one little man, crumpled up and thinking, onthe great gray hillside. Here Garm left me. He departed without a word, and, so far as I could see, without movinghis legs. He flew through the air bodily, and I heard the whack of himas he flung himself at Stanley, knocking the little man clean over. Theyrolled on the ground together, shouting, and yelping, and hugging. Icould not see which was dog and which was man, till Stanley got up andwhimpered. He told me that he had been suffering from fever at intervals, and wasvery weak. He looked all he said, but even while I watched, both man anddog plumped out to their natural sizes, precisely as dried apples swellin water. Garin was on his shoulder, and his breast and feet all at thesame time, so that Stanley spoke all through a cloud of Garin--gulping, sobbing, slavering Garm. He did not say anything that I couldunderstand, except that he had fancied he was going to die, but that nowhe was quite well, and that he was not going to give up Garin any moreto anybody under the rank of Beelzebub. Then he said he felt hungry, and thirsty, and happy. We went down to tea at the rest-house, where Stanley stuffed himselfwith sardines and raspberry jam, and beer, and cold mutton and pickles, when Garm wasn't climbing over him; and then Vixen and I went on. Garm saw how it was at once. He said good-bye to me three times, givingme both paws one after another, and leaping on to my shoulder. Hefurther escorted us, singing Hosannas at the top of his voice, a miledown the road. Then he raced back to his own master. Vixen never opened her mouth, but when the cold twilight came, and wecould see the lights of Simla across the hills, she snuffled with hernose at the breast of my ulster. I unbuttoned it, and tucked her inside. Then she gave a contented little sniff, and fell fast asleep, her headon my breast, till we bundled out at Simla, two of the four happiestpeople in all the world that night. THE POWER OF THE DOG There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and women to fill our day; But when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear. Buy a pup and your money will buy Love unflinching that cannot lie-- Perfect passion and worship fed By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head. Nevertheless it is hardly fair To risk your heart for a dog to tear. When the fourteen years which Nature permits Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits, And the vet's unspoken prescription runs To lethal chambers or loaded guns, Then you will find--it's your own affair But. .. You've given your heart to a dog to tear. When the body that lived at your single will When the whimper of welcome is stilled (how still!) When the spirit that answered your every mood Is gone wherever it goes--for good, You will discover how much you care, And will give your heart to a dog to tear! We've sorrow enough in the natural way, When it comes to burying Christian clay. Our loves are not given, but only lent, At compound interest of cent per cent. Though it is not always the case, I believe, That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve: For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, A short-time loan is as bad as a long So why in Heaven (before we are there!) Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear? THE MOTHER HIVE If the stock had not been old and overcrowded, the Wax-moth would neverhave entered; but where bees are too thick on the comb there must besickness or parasites. The heat of the hive had risen with the Junehoney-flow, and though the farmers worked, until their wings ached, tokeep people cool, everybody suffered. A young bee crawled up the greasy trampled alighting-board. "Excuse me, "she began, "but it's my first honey-flight. Could you kindly tell me ifthis is my--" "--own hive?" the Guard snapped. "Yes! Buzz in, and be foul-brooded toyou! Next!" "Shame!" cried half a dozen old workers with worn wings and nerves, andthere was a scuffle and a hum. The little grey Wax-moth, pressed close in a crack in thealighting-board, had waited this chance all day. She scuttled in like aghost, and, knowing the senior bees would turn her out at once, dodgedinto a brood-frame, where youngsters who had not yet seen the winds blowor the flowers nod discussed life. Here she was safe, for young beeswill tolerate any sort of stranger. Behind her came the bee who had beenslanged by the Guard. "What is the world like, Melissa?" said a companion. "Cruel! I broughtin a full load of first-class stuff, and the Guard told me to go and befoul-brooded!" She sat down in the cool draught across the combs. "If you'd only heard, " said the Wax-moth silkily, "the insolence ofthe Guard's tone when she cursed our sister. It aroused the EntireCommunity. " She laid an egg. She had stolen in for that purpose. "There was a bit of a fuss on the Gate, " Melissa chuckled. "You werethere, Miss?" She did not know how to address the slim stranger. "Don't call me 'Miss. ' I'm a sister to all in affliction--just aworking-sister. My heart bled for you beneath your burden. " The Wax-mothcaressed Melissa with her soft feelers and laid another egg. "You mustn't lay here, " cried Melissa. "You aren't a Queen. " "My dear child, I give you my most solemn word of honour those aren'teggs. Those are my principles, and I am ready to die for them. " Sheraised her voice a little above the rustle and tramp round her. "Ifyou'd like to kill me, pray do. " "Don't be unkind, Melissa, " said a young bee, impressed by the chastefolds of the Wax-moth's wing, which hid her ceaseless egg-dropping. "I haven't done anything, " Melissa answered. "She's doing it all. " "Ah, don't let your conscience reproach you later, but when you'vekilled me, write me, at least, as one that loved her fellow-worker. " Laying at every sob, the Wax-moth backed into a crowd of young bees, andleft Melissa bewildered and annoyed. So she lifted up her little voicein the darkness and cried, "Stores!" till a gang of cell-fillers hailedher, and she left her load with them. "I'm afraid I foul-brooded you just now, " said a voice over hershoulder. "I'd been on the Gate for three hours, and one wouldfoul-brood the Queen herself after that. No offence meant. " "None taken, " Melissa answered cheerily. "I shall be on Guard myself, some day. What's next to do?" "There's a rumour of Death's Head Moths about. Send a gang of youngstersto the Gate, and tell them to narrow it in with a couple of stoutscrap-wax pillars. It'll make the Hive hot, but we can't have Death'sHeaders in the middle of our honey-flow. " "My Only Wings! I should think not!" Melissa had all a sound bee'shereditary hatred against the big, squeaking, feathery Thief of theHives. "Tumble out!" she called across the youngsters' quarters. "Allyou who aren't feeding babies, show a leg. Scrap-wax pillars for theGa-ate!" She chanted the order at length. "That's nonsense, " a downy, day-old bee answered. "In the first place, Inever heard of a Death's Header coming into a hive. People don't dosuch things. In the second, building pillars to keep 'em out is purelya Cypriote trick, unworthy of British bees. In the third, if you trusta Death's Head, he will trust you. Pillar-building shows lack ofconfidence. Our dear sister in grey says so. " "Yes. Pillars are un-English and provocative, and a waste of wax thatis needed for higher and more practical ends, " said the Wax-moth from anempty store-cell. "The safety of the Hive is the highest thing I've ever heard of. Youmustn't teach us to refuse work, " Melissa began. "You misunderstand me, as usual, love. Work's the essence of life;but to expend precious unreturning vitality and real labour againstimaginary danger, that is heartbreakingly absurd! If I can only teacha--a little toleration--a little ordinary kindness here toward thatabsurd old bogey you call the Death's Header, I shan't have lived invain. " "She hasn't lived in vain, the darling!" cried twenty bees together. "You should see her saintly life, Melissa! She just devotes herself tospreading her principles, and--and--she looks lovely!" An old, baldish bee came up the comb. "Pillar-workers for the Gate! Get out and chew scraps. Buzz off!" shesaid. The Wax-moth slipped aside. The young bees trooped down the frame, whispering. "What's the matterwith 'em?" said the oldster. "Why do they call each other 'ducky' and'darling'? Must be the weather. " She sniffed suspiciously. "Horridstuffy smell here. Like stale quilts. Not Wax-moth, I hope, Melissa?" "Not to my knowledge, " said Melissa, who, of course, only knew theWax-moth as a lady with principles, and had never thought to reporther presence. She had always imagined Wax-moths to be like blood-reddragon-flies. "You had better fan out this corner for a little, " said the old bee andpassed on. Melissa dropped her head at once, took firm hold with herfore-feet, and fanned obediently at the regulation stroke three hundredbeats to the second. Fanning tries a bee's temper, because she mustalways keep in the same place where she never seems to be doing anygood, and, all the while, she is wearing out her only wings. When a beecannot fly, a bee must not live; and a bee knows it. The Wax-moth creptforth, and caressed Melissa again. "I see, " she murmured, "that at heart you are one of Us. " "I work with the Hive, " Melissa answered briefly. "It's the same thing. We and the Hive are one. " "Then why are your feelers different from ours? Don't cuddle so. " "Don't be provincial, Carissima. You can't have all the worldalike--yet. " "But why do you lay eggs?" Melissa insisted. "You lay 'em like aQueen--only you drop them in patches all over the place. I've watchedyou. " "Ah, Brighteyes, so you've pierced my little subterfuge? Yes, they areeggs. By and by they'll spread our principles. Aren't you glad?" "You gave me your most solemn word of honour that they were not eggs. " "That was my little subterfuge, dearest--for the sake of the Cause. Now I must reach the young. " The Wax-moth tripped towards the fourthbrood-frame where the young bees were busy feeding the babies. It takes some time for a sound bee to realize a malignant and continuouslie. "She's very sweet and feathery, " was all that Melissa thought, "buther talk sounds like ivy honey tastes. I'd better get to my field-workagain. " She found the Gate in a sulky uproar. The youngsters told off to thepillars had refused to chew scrap-wax because it made their jaws ache, and were clamouring for virgin stuff. "Anything to finish the job!" said the badgered Guards. "Hang up, someof you, and make wax for these slack-jawed sisters. " Before a bee can make wax she must fill herself with honey. Then sheclimbs to safe foothold and hangs, while other gorged bees hang on toher in a cluster. There they wait in silence till the wax comes. Thescales are either taken out of the maker's pockets by the workers, ortinkle down on the workers while they wait. The workers chew them (theyare useless unchewed) into the all-supporting, all-embracing Wax of theHive. But now, no sooner was the wax-cluster in position than the workersbelow broke out again. "Come down!" they cried. "Come down and work! Come on, you Levantineparasites! Don't think to enjoy yourselves up there while we're sweatingdown here!" The cluster shivered, as from hooked fore-foot to hooked hind-foot ittelegraphed uneasiness. At last a worker sprang up, grabbed the lowestwaxmaker, and swung, kicking above her companions. "I can make wax too!" she bawled. "Give me a full gorge and I'll maketons of it. " "Make it, then, " said the bee she had grappled. The spoken word snappedthe current through the cluster. It shook and glistened like a cat's furin the dark. "Unhook!" it murmured. "No wax for any one to-day. " "You lazy thieves! Hang up at once and produce our wax, " said the beesbelow. "Impossible! The sweat's gone. To make your wax we must have stillness, warmth, and food. Unhook! Unhook!" They broke up as they murmured, and disappeared among the other bees, from whom, of course, they were undistinguishable. "Seems as if we'd have to chew scrap-wax for these pillars, after all, "said a worker. "Not by a whole comb, " cried the young bee who had broken the cluster. "Listen here! I've studied the question more than twenty minutes. It'sas simple as falling off a daisy. You've heard of Cheshire, Root andLangstroth?" They had not, but they shouted "Good old Langstroth!" just the same. "Those three know all that there is to be known about making hives. Oneor t'other of 'em must have made ours, and if they've made it, they'rebound to look after it. Ours is a 'Guaranteed Patent Hive. ' You can seeit on the label behind. " "Good old guarantee! Hurrah for the label behind!" roared the bees. "Well, such being the case, I say that when we find they've betrayed us, we can exact from them a terrible vengeance. " "Good old vengeance! Good old Root! 'Nuff said! Chuck it!" The crowdcheered and broke away as Melissa dived through. "D'you know where Langstroth, Root and Cheshire, live if you happen towant em? she asked of the proud panting orator. "Gum me if I know they ever lived at all! But aren't they beautifulnames to buzz about? Did you see how it worked up the sisterhood?" "Yes; but it didn't defend the Gate, " she replied. "Ah, perhaps that's true, but think how delicate my position is, sister. I've a magnificent appetite, and I don't like working. It's bad for themind. My instinct tells me that I can act as a restraining influence onothers. They would have been worse, but for me. " But Melissa had already risen clear, and was heading for a breadth ofvirgin white clover, which to an overtired bee is as soothing as plainknitting to a woman. "I think I'll take this load to the nurseries, " she said, when she hadfinished. "It was always quiet there in my day, " and she topped off withtwo little pats of pollen for the babies. She was met on the fourth brood-comb by a rush of excited sisters allbuzzing together. "One at a time! Let me put down my load. Now, what is it Sacharissa?"she said. "Grey Sister--that fluffy one, I mean--she came and said we ought to beout in the sunshine gathering honey, because life was short. She saidany old bee could attend to our babies, and some day old bees would. That isn't true, Melissa, is it? No old bees can take us away from ourbabies, can they?" "Of course not. You feed the babies while your heads are soft. When yourheads harden, you go on to field-work. Any one knows that. " "We told her so! We told her so; but she only waved her feelers, andsaid we could all lay eggs like Queens if we chose. And I'm afraidlots of the weaker sisters believe her, and are trying to do it. Sounsettling!" Sacharissa sped to a sealed worker-cell whose lid pulsated, as the beewithin began to cut its way out. "Come along, precious!" she murmured, and thinned the frail top from theother side. A pale, damp, creased thing hoisted itself feebly on to thecomb. Sacharissa's note changed at once. "No time to waste! Go up theframe and preen yourself!" she said. "Report for nursing-duty in my wardto-morrow evening at six. Stop a minute. What's the matter with yourthird right leg?" The young bee held it out in silence--unmistakably a drone leg incapableof packing pollen. "Thank you. You needn't report till the day after to-morrow. " Sacharissaturned to her companion. "That's the fifth oddity hatched in my wardsince noon. I don't like it. " "There's always a certain number of 'em, " said Melissa. "You can't stopa few working sisters from laying, now and then, when they overfeedthemselves. They only raise dwarf drones. " "But we're hatching out drones with workers' stomachs; workers withdrones' stomachs; and albinoes and mixed-leggers who can't packpollen--like that poor little beast yonder. I don't mind dwarf dronesany more than you do (they all die in July), but this steady hatch ofoddities frightens me, Melissa!" "How narrow of you! They are all so delightfully clever and unusual andinteresting, " piped the Wax-moth from a crack above them. "Come here, you dear, downy duck, and tell us all about your feelings. " "I wish she'd go!" Sacharissa lowered her voice. "She meetsthese--er--oddities as they dry out, and cuddles 'em in corners. " "I suppose the truth is that we're over-stocked and too well fed toswarm, " said Melissa. "That is the truth, " said the Queen's voice behind them. They hadnot heard the heavy royal footfall which sets empty cells vibrating. Sacharissa offered her food at once. She ate and dragged her weary bodyforward. "Can you suggest a remedy?" she said. "New principles!" cried the Wax-moth from her crevice. "We'll apply themquietly later. " "Suppose we sent out a swarm?" Melissa suggested. "It's a little late, but it might ease us off. " "It would save us, but--I know the Hive! You shall see for yourself. "The old Queen cried the Swarming Cry, which to a bee of good bloodshould be what the trumpet was to Job's war-horse. In spite of herimmense age (three, years), it rang between the canon-like frames as apibroch rings in a mountain pass; the fanners changed their note, andrepeated it up in every gallery; and the broad-winged drones, burly andeager, ended it on one nerve-thrilling outbreak of bugles: "La Reine leveult! Swarm! Swar-rm! Swar-r-rm!" But the roar which should follow the Call was wanting. They heard abroken grumble like the murmur of a falling tide. "Swarm? What for? Catch me leaving a good bar-frame Hive, with fixedfoundations, for a rotten, old oak out in the open where it may rain anyminute! We're all right! It's a 'Patent Guaranteed Hive. ' Why do theywant to turn us out? Swarming be gummed! Swarming was invented to cheata worker out of her proper comforts. Come on off to bed!" The noise died out as the bees settled in empty cells for the night. "You hear?" said the Queen. "I know the Hive!" "Quite between ourselves, I taught them that, " cried the Wax-moth. "Wait till my principles develop, and you'll see the light from a newquarter. " "You speak truth for once, " the Queen said suddenly, for she recognizedthe Wax-moth. "That Light will break into the top of the Hive. A HotSmoke will follow it, and your children will not be able to hide in anycrevice. " "Is it possible?" Melissa whispered. "I-we have sometimes heard a legendlike it. " "It is no legend, " the old Queen answered. "I had it from my mother, andshe had it from hers. After the Wax-moth has grown strong, a Shadow willfall across the gate; a Voice will speak from behind a Veil; there willbe Light, and Hot Smoke, and earthquakes, and those who live will seeeverything that they have done, all together in one place, burned up inone great fire. " The old Queen was trying to tell what she had been toldof the Bee Master's dealings with an infected hive in the apiary, two orthree seasons ago; and, of course, from her point of view the affair wasas important as the Day of Judgment. "And then?" asked horrified Sacharissa. "Then, I have heard that a little light will burn in a great darkness, and perhaps the world will begin again. Myself, I think not. " "Tut! Tut!" the Wax-moth cried. "You good, fat people always prophesyruin if things don't go exactly your way. But I grant you there will bechanges. " There were. When her eggs hatched, the wax was riddled with littletunnels, coated with the dirty clothes of the caterpillars. Flannellylines ran through the honey-stores, the pollen-larders, the foundations, and, worst of all, through the babies in their cradles, till the SweeperGuards spent half their time tossing out useless little corpses. Thelines ended in a maze of sticky webbing on the face of the comb. Thecaterpillars could not stop spinning as they walked, and as they walkedeverywhere, they smarmed and garmed everything. Even where it did nothamper the bees' feet, the stale, sour smell of the stuff put them offtheir work; though some of the bees who had taken to egg laying said itencouraged them to be mothers and maintain a vital interest in life. When the caterpillars became moths, they made friends with theever-increasing Oddities--albinoes, mixed-leggers, single-eyedcomposites, faceless drones, halfqueens and laying sisters; andthe ever-dwindling band of the old stock worked themselves bald andfray-winged to feed their queer charges. Most of the Oddities would not, and many, on account of their malformations, could not, go througha day's field-work; but the Wax-moths, who were always busy on thebrood-comb, found pleasant home occupations for them. One albino, forinstance, divided the number of pounds of honey in stock by the numberof bees in the Hive, and proved that if every bee only gathered honeyfor seven and three quarter minutes a day, she would have the rest ofthe time to herself, and could accompany the drones on their matingflights. The drones were not at all pleased. Another, an eyeless drone with no feelers, said that all brood-cellsshould be perfect circles, so as not to interfere with the grub or theworkers. He proved that the old six-sided cell was solely due to theworkers building against each other on opposite sides of the wall, andthat if there were no interference, there would be no angles. Some beestried the new plan for a while, and found it cost eight times morewax than the old six sided specification; and, as they never allowed acluster to hang up and make wax in peace, real wax was scarce. However, they eked out their task with varnish stolen from new coffins atfunerals, and it made them rather sick. Then they took to cadging roundsugar-factories and breweries, because it was easiest to get theirmaterial from those places, and the mixture of glucose and beernaturally fermented in store and blew the store-cells out of shape, besides smelling abominably. Some of the sound bees warned them thatill-gotten gains never prosper, but the Oddities at once surrounded themand balled them to death. That was a punishment they were almost asfond of as they were of eating, and they expected the sound bees tofeed them. Curiously enough the age-old instinct of loyalty and devotiontowards the Hive made the sound bees do this, though their reason toldthem they ought to slip away and unite with some other healthy stock inthe apiary. "What, about seven and three-quarter minutes' work now?" said Melissaone day as she came in. "I've been at it for five hours, and I've onlyhalf a load. " "Oh, the Hive subsists on the Hival Honey which the Hive produces, " saida blind Oddity squatting in a store-cell. "But honey is gathered from flowers outside two miles away sometimes, "cried Melissa. "Pardon me, " said the blind thing, sucking hard. "But this is the Hive, is it not?" "It was. Worse luck, it is. " "And the Hival Honey is here, is it not?" It opened a fresh store-cellto prove it. "Ye-es, but it won't be long at this rate, " said Melissa. "The rates have nothing to do with it. This Hive produces the HivalHoney. You people never seem to grasp the economic simplicity thatunderlies all life. " "Oh, me!" said poor Melissa, "haven't you ever been beyond the Gate?" "Certainly not. A fool's eyes are in the ends of the earth. Mine are inmy head. " It gorged till it bloated. Melissa took refuge in her poorly paid field-work and told Sacharissathe story. "Hut!" said that wise bee, fretting with an old maid of a thistle. "Tellus something new. The Hive's full of such as him--it, I mean. " "What's the end to be? All the honey going out and none coming in. Things can't last this way!" said Melissa. "Who cares?" said Sacharissa. "I know now how drones feel the day beforethey're killed. A short life and a merry one for me. " "If it only were merry! But think of those awful, solemn, lop-sidedOddities waiting for us at home crawling and clambering andpreaching--and dirtying things in the dark. " "I don't mind that so much as their silly songs, after we've fed 'em, all about 'work among the merry, merry blossoms, " said Sacharissa fromthe deeps of a stale Canterbury bell. "I do. How's our Queen?" said Melissa. "Cheerfully hopeless, as usual. But she lays an egg now and then. " "Does she so?" Melissa backed out of the next bell with a jerk. "Supposenow, we sound workers tried to raise a Princess in some clean corner?" "You'd be put to it to find one. The Hive's all Wax-moth and muckings. But--well?" "A Princess might help us in the time of the Voice behind the Veil thatthe Queen talks of. And anything is better than working for Odditiesthat chirrup about work that they can't do, and waste what we bringhome. " "Who cares?" said Sacharissa. "I'm with you, for the fun of it. TheOddities would ball us to death, if they knew. Come home, and we'llbegin. " There is no room to tell how the experienced Melissa found a far-offframe so messed and mishandled by abandoned cell-building experimentsthat, for very shame, the bees never went there. How in that ruin sheblocked out a Royal Cell of sound wax, but disguised by rubbish till itlooked like a kopje among deserted kopjes. How she prevailed upon thehopeless Queen to make one last effort and lay a worthy egg. How theQueen obeyed and died. How her spent carcass was flung out on therubbish heap, and how a multitude of laying sisters went about droppingdrone-eggs where they listed, and said there was no more need of Queens. How, covered by this confusion, Sacharissa educated certain young beesto educate certain new-born bees in the almost lost art of making RoyalJelly. How the nectar for it was won out of hours in the teeth of chillwinds. How the hidden egg hatched true--no drone, but Blood Royal. Howit was capped, and how desperately they worked to feed and double-feedthe now swarming Oddities, lest any break in the food-supplies shouldset them to instituting inquiries, which, with songs about work, wastheir favourite amusement. How in an auspicious hour, on a moonlessnight, the Princess came forth a Princess indeed, and how Melissasmuggled her into a dark empty honey-magazine, to bide her time; andhow the drones, knowing she was there, went about singing the deepdisreputable love-songs of the old days--to the scandal of the layingsisters, who do not think well of drones. These things are, writtenin the Book of Queens, which is laid up in the hollow of the Great AshYgdrasil. After a few days the weather changed again and became glorious. Even theOddities would now join the crowd that hung out on the alighting-board, and would sing of work among the merry, merry blossoms till an untrainedear might have received it for the hum of a working hive. Yet, in truth, their store-honey had been eaten long ago. They lived from day to dayon the efforts of the few sound bees, while the Wax-moth fretted andconsumed again their already ruined wax. But the sound bees nevermentioned these matters. They knew, if they did, the Oddities would holda meeting and ball them to death. "Now you see what we have done, " said the Wax-moths. "We have createdNew Material, a New Convention, a New Type, as we said we would. " "And new possibilities for us, " said the laying sisters gratefully. "Youhave given us a new life's work, vital and paramount. " "More than that, " chanted the Oddities in the sunshine; "you havecreated a new heaven and a new earth. Heaven, cloudless and accessible"(it was a perfect August evening) "and Earth teeming with the merry, merry blossoms, waiting only our honest toil to turn them all to good. The--er--Aster, and the Crocus, and the--er--Ladies' Smock in herseason, the Chrysanthemum after her kind, and the Guelder Rose bringingforth abundantly withal. " "Oh, Holy Hymettus!" said Melissa, awestruck. "I knew they didn't knowhow honey was made, but they've forgotten the Order of the Flowers! Whatwill become of them?" A Shadow fell across the alighting-board as the Bee Master and his soncame by. The Oddities crawled in and a Voice behind a Veil said: "I'veneglected the old Hive too long. Give me the smoker. " Melissa heard and darted through the gate. "Come, oh come!" she cried. "It is the destruction the Old Queen foretold. Princess, come!" "Really, you are too archaic for words, " said an Oddity in an alley-way. "A cloud, I admit, may have crossed the sun; but why hysterics? Aboveall, why Princesses so late in the day? Are you aware it's the HivalTea-time? Let's sing grace. " Melissa clawed past him with all six legs. Sacharissa had run to whatwas left of the fertile brood-comb. "Down and out!" she called acrossthe brown breadth of it. "Nurses, guards, fanners, sweepers--out!" "Never mind the babies. They're better dead. --Out, before the Light andthe Hot Smoke!" The Princess's first clear fearless call (Melissa had found her) roseand drummed through all the frames. "La Reine le veult! Swarm! Swar-rm!Swar-r-rm!" The Hive shook beneath the shattering thunder of a stuck-down quiltbeing torn back. "Don't be alarmed, dears, " said the Wax-moths. "That's our work. Lookup, and you'll see the dawn of the New Day. " Light broke in the top of the hive as the Queen had, prophesied--nakedlight on the boiling, bewildered bees. Sacharissa rounded up her rearguard, which dropped headlong off theframe, and joined the Princess's detachment thrusting toward the Gate. Now panic was in full blast, and each sound bee found herself embracedby at least three Oddities. The first instinct of a frightened bee isto break into the stores and gorge herself with honey; but there were nostores left, so the Oddities fought the sound bees. "You must feed us, or we shall die!" they cried, holding and clutchingand slipping, while the silent scared earwigs and little spiders twistedbetween their legs. "Think of the Hive, traitors! The Holy Hive!" "You should have thought before!" cried the sound bees. , "Stay and seethe dawn of your New Day. " They reached the Gate at last over the soft bodies of many to whom theyhad ministered. "On! Out! Up!" roared Melissa in the Princess's ear. "For the Hive'ssake! To the Old Oak!" The Princess left the alighting-board, circled once, flung herself atthe lowest branch of the Old Oak, and her little loyal swarm--you couldhave covered it with a pint mug--followed, hooked, and hung. "Hold close!" Melissa gasped. "The old legends have come true! Look!" The Hive was half hidden by smoke, and Figures moved through the smoke. They heard a frame crack stickily, saw it heaved high and twirled roundbetween enormous hands--a blotched, bulged, and perished horror of greywax, corrupt brood, and small drone-cells, all covered with crawlingOddities, strange to the sun. "Why, this isn't a hive! This is a museum of curiosities, " said theVoice behind the Veil. It was only the Bee Master talking to his son. "Can you blame 'em, father?" said a second voice. "It's rotten withWax-moth. See here!" Another frame came up. A finger poked through it, and it broke away inrustling flakes of ashy rottenness. "Number Four Frame! That was your mother's pet comb once, " whisperedMelissa to the Princess. "Many's the good egg I've watched her laythere. " "Aren't you confusing pod hoc with propter hoc?" said the Bee Master. "Wax-moth only succeed when weak bees let them in. " A third framecrackled and rose into the light. "All this is full of laying workers'brood. That never happens till the stock's weakened. Phew!" He beat it on his knee like a tambourine, and it also crumbled topieces. The little swarm shivered as they watched the dwarf drone-grubs squirmfeebly on the grass. Many sound bees had nursed on that frame, wellknowing their work was useless; but the actual sight of even uselesswork destroyed disheartens a good worker. "No, they have some recuperative power left, " said the second voice. "Here's a Queen cell!" "But it's tucked away among--What on earth has come to the littlewretches? They seem to have lost the instinct of cell-building. " Thefather held up the frame where the bees had experimented in circularcell-work. It looked like the pitted head, of a decaying toadstool. "Not altogether, " the son corrected. "There's one line, at least, ofperfectly good cells. " "My work, " said Sacharissa to herself. "I'm glad Man does me justicebefore--" That frame, too, was smashed out and thrown atop of the others and thefoul earwiggy quilts. As frame after frame followed it, the swarm beheld the upheaval, exposure, and destruction of all that had been well or ill done in everycranny of their Hive for generations past. There was black comb so oldthat they had forgotten where it hung; orange, buff, and ochre-varnishedstore-comb, built as bees were used to build before the days ofartificial foundations; and there was a little, white, frail new work. There were sheets on sheets of level, even brood-comb that had held inits time unnumbered thousands of unnamed workers; patches of obsoletedrone-comb, broad and high-shouldered, showing to what marks the malegrub was expected to grow; and two-inch deep honey-magazines, empty, butstill magnificent, the whole gummed and glued into twisted scrap-work, awry on the wires; half-cells, beginnings abandoned, or grandiose, weak-walled, composite cells pieced out with rubbish and capped withdirt. Good or bad, every inch of it was so riddled by the tunnels of theWax-moth that it broke in clouds of dust as it was flung on the heap. "Oh, see!" cried Sacharissa. "The Great Burning that Our Queen foretold. Who can bear to look?" A flame crawled up the pile of rubbish, and they smelt singeing wax. The Figures stooped, lifted the Hive and shook it upside down over thepyre. A cascade of Oddities, chips of broken comb, scale, fluff, andgrubs slid out, crackled, sizzled, popped a little, and then the flamesroared up and consumed all that fuel. "We must disinfect, " said a Voice. "Get me a sulphur-candle, please. " The shell of the Hive was returned to its place, a light was set inits sticky emptiness, tier by tier the Figures built it up, closed theentrance, and went away. The swarm watched the light leaking throughthe cracks all the long night. At dawn one Wax-moth came by, flutteringimpudently. "There has been a miscalculation about the New Day, my dears, " shebegan; "one can't expect people to be perfect all at once. That was ourmistake. " "No, the mistake was entirely ours, " said the Princess. "Pardon me, " said the Wax-moth. "When you think of the enormousupheaval--call it good or bad--which our influence brought about, youwill admit that we, and we alone--" "You?" said the Princess. "Our stock was not strong. So you came--as anyother disease might have come. Hang close, all my people. " When the sun rose, Veiled Figures came down, and saw their swarm at thebough's end waiting patiently within sight of the old Hive--a handful, but prepared to go on. THE BEES AND THE FLIES A FARMER of the Augustan age Perused in Virgil's golden page, The story of the secret won From Proteus by Cyrene's son How the dank sea-god sowed the swain Means to restore his hives again More briefly, how a slaughtered bull Breeds honey by the bellyful. The egregious rustic put to death A bull by stopping of its breath: Disposed the carcass in a shed With fragrant herbs and branches spread. And, having thus performed the charm, Sat down to wait the promised swarm. Nor waited long. .. The God of Day Impartial, quickening with his ray Evil and good alike, beheld The carcass--and the carcass swelled! Big with new birth the belly heaves Beneath its screen of scented leaves; Past any doubt, the bull conceives! The farmer bids men bring more hives To house the profit that arrives; Prepares on pan, and key and kettle, Sweet music that shall make 'em settle; But when to crown the work he goes, Gods! What a stink salutes his nose! Where are the honest toilers? Where The gravid mistress of their care? A busy scene, indeed, he sees, But not a sign or sound of bees. Worms of the riper grave unhid By any kindly coffin lid, Obscene and shameless to the light, Seethe in insatiate appetite, Through putrid offal; while above The hissing blow-fly seeks his love, Whose offspring, supping where they supt, Consume corruption twice corrupt. WITH THE NIGHT MAIL A STORY OF 2000 A. D. (Together with extracts from the magazine in which it appeared) A nine o'clock of a gusty winter night I stood on the lower stages ofone of the G. P. O. Outward mail towers. My purpose was a run to Quebecin "Postal Packet 162 or such other as may be appointed"; and thePostmaster-General himself countersigned the order. This talisman openedall doors, even those in the despatching-caisson at the foot of thetower, where they were delivering the sorted Continental mail. The bagslay packed close as herrings in the long grey underbodies which ourG. P. O. Still calls "coaches. " Five such coaches were filled as Iwatched, and were shot up the guides to be locked on to their waitingpackets three hundred feet nearer the stars. From the despatching-caisson I was conducted by a courteous andwonderfully learned official Mr. L. L. Geary, Second Despatcher ofthe Western Route--to the Captains' Room (this wakes an echo of oldromance), where the mail captains come on for their turn of duty. Heintroduces me to the captain of "162"--Captain Purnall, and his relief, Captain Hodgson. The one is small and dark; the other large and red;but each has the brooding sheathed glance characteristic of eagles andaeronauts. You can see it in the pictures of our racing professionals, from L. V. Rautsch to little Ada Warrleigh--that fathomless abstractionof eyes habitually turned through naked space. On the notice-board in the Captains' Room, the pulsing arrows of sometwenty indicators register, degree by geographical degree, the progressof as many homeward-bound packets. The word "Cape" rises across the faceof a dial; a gong strikes: the South African mid-weekly mail is in atthe Highgate Receiving Towers. That is all. It reminds one comically ofthe traitorous little bell which in pigeon-fanciers', lofts notifies thereturn of a homer. "Time for us to be on the move, " says Captain Purnall, and we are shotup by the passenger-lift to the top of the despatch-towers. "Our coachwill lock on when it is filled and the clerks are aboard. " "No. 162" waits for us in Slip E of the topmost stage. The great curveof her back shines frostily under the lights, and some minute alterationof trim makes her rock a little in her holding-down slips. Captain Purnall frowns and dives inside. Hissing softly, "162" comes torest as level as a rule. From her North Atlantic Winter nose-cap (wornbright as diamond with boring through uncounted leagues of hail, snow, and ice) to the inset of her three built out propeller-shafts is sometwo hundred and forty feet. Her extreme diameter, carried well forward, is thirty-seven. Contrast this with the nine hundred by ninety-five ofany crack liner, and you will realize the power that must drive a hullthrough all weathers at more than the emergency speed of the Cyclonic! The eye detects no joint in her skin plating save the sweepinghair-crack of the bow-rudder--Magniac's rudder that assured us thedominion of the unstable air and left its inventor penniless andhalf-blind. It is calculated to Castelli's "gullwing" curve. Raise a fewfeet of that all but invisible plate three-eighths of an inch and shewill yaw five miles to port or starboard ere she is under control again. Give her full helm and she returns on her track like a whip-lash. Cantthe whole forward--a touch on the wheel will suffice--and she sweepsat your good direction up or down. Open the complete circle and shepresents to the air a mushroom-head that will bring her up all standingwithin a half mile. "Yes, " says Captain Hodgson, answering my thought, "Castelli thoughthe'd discovered the secret of controlling aeroplanes when he'd onlyfound out how to steer dirigible balloons. Magniac invented his rudderto help war-boats ram each other; and war went out of fashion andMagniac he went out of his mind because he said he couldn't serve hiscountry any more. I wonder if any of us ever know what we're reallydoing. " "If you want to see the coach locked you'd better go aboard. It's duenow, " says Mr. Geary. I enter through the door amidships. There isnothing here for display. The inner skin of the gas-tanks comes down towithin a foot or two of my head and turns over just short of the turn ofthe bilges. Liners and yachts disguise their tanks with decoration, but the G. P. O. Serves them raw under a lick of grey official paint. Theinner skin shuts off fifty feet of the bow and as much of the stern, but the bow-bulkhead is recessed for the lift-shunting apparatus asthe stern is pierced for the shaft-tunnels. The engine-room lies almostamidships. Forward of it, extending to the turn of the bow tanks, is anaperture--a bottomless hatch at present--into which our coach willbe locked. One looks down over the coamings three hundred feet tothe despatching-caisson whence voices boom upward. The light below isobscured to a sound of thunder, as our coach rises on its guides. Itenlarges rapidly from a postage-stamp to a playing-card; to a punt andlast a pontoon. The two clerks, its crew, do not even look up as itcomes into place. The Quebec letters fly under their fingers and leapinto the docketed racks, while both captains and Mr. Geary satisfy themselves that the coach is locked home. A clerk passes the way-bill overthe hatch coaming. Captain Purnall thumb-marks and passes it to Mr. Geary. Receipt has been given and taken. "Pleasant run, " says Mr. Geary, and disappears through the door which a foot high pneumatic compressorlocks after him. "A-ah!" sighs the compressor released. Our holding-down clips part witha tang. We are clear. Captain Hodgson opens the great colloid underbody porthole through whichI watch over-lighted London slide eastward as the gale gets hold ofus. The first of the low winter clouds cuts off the well-known view anddarkens Middlesex. On the south edge of it I can see a postal packet'slight ploughing through the white fleece. For an instant she gleams likea star ere she drops toward the Highgate Receiving Towers. "The BombayMail, " says Captain Hodgson, and looks at his watch. "She's fortyminutes late. " "What's our level?" I ask. "Four thousand. Aren't you coming up on the bridge?" The bridge (let us ever praise the G. P. O. As a repository of ancientesttradition!) is represented by a view of Captain Hodgson's legs where hestands on the Control Platform that runs thwart-ships overhead. The bowcolloid is unshuttered and Captain Purnall, one hand on the wheel, is feeling for a fair slant. The dial shows 4300 feet. "It's steepto-night, " he mutters, as tier on tier of cloud drops under. "Wegenerally pick up an easterly draught below three thousand at this timeo' the year. I hate slathering through fluff. " "So does Van Cutsem. Look at him huntin' for a slant!" says CaptainHodgson. A foglight breaks cloud a hundred fathoms below. The AntwerpNight Mail makes her signal and rises between two racing clouds far toport, her flanks blood-red in the glare of Sheerness Double Light. The gale will have us over the North Sea in half-an-hour, but CaptainPurnall lets her go composedly--nosing to every point of the compass asshe rises. "Five thousand-six, six thousand eight hundred"--the dip-dial reads erewe find the easterly drift, heralded by a flurry of snow at the thousandfathom level. Captain Purnall rings up the engines and keys down thegovernor on the switch before him. There is no sense in urging machinerywhen Eolus himself gives you good knots for nothing. We are away inearnest now--our nose notched home on our chosen star. At this level thelower clouds are laid out, all neatly combed by the dry fingers of theEast. Below that again is the strong westerly blow through which werose. Overhead, a film of southerly drifting mist draws a theatricalgauze across the firmament. The moonlight turns the lower strata tosilver without a stain except where our shadow underruns us. Bristol andCardiff Double Lights (those statelily inclined beams over Severnmouth)are dead ahead of us; for we keep the Southern Winter Route. CoventryCentral, the pivot of the English system, stabs upward once in tenseconds its spear of diamond light to the north; and a point or two offour starboard bow The Leek, the great cloud-breaker of Saint David'sHead, swings its unmistakable green beam twenty-five degrees each way. There must be half a mile of fluff over it in this weather, but it doesnot affect The Leek. "Our planet's over-lighted if anything, " says Captain Purnall at thewheel, as Cardiff-Bristol slides under. "I remember the old days ofcommon white verticals that 'ud show two or three hundred feet up in amist, if you knew where to look for 'em. In really fluffy weather theymight as well have been under your hat. One could get lost coming homethen, an' have some fun. Now, it's like driving down Piccadilly. " He points to the pillars of light where the cloud-breakers bore throughthe cloud-floor. We see nothing of England's outlines: only a whitepavement pierced in all directions by these manholes of variouslycoloured fire--Holy Island's white and red--St. Bee's interrupted white, and so on as far as the eye can reach. Blessed be Sargent, Ahrens, and the Dubois brothers, who invented the cloud-breakers of the worldwhereby we travel in security! "Are you going to lift for The Shamrock?" asks Captain Hodgson. CorkLight (green, fixed) enlarges as we rush to it. Captain Purnallnods. There is heavy traffic hereabouts--the cloud-bank beneath us isstreaked with running fissures of flame where the Atlantic boats arehurrying Londonward just clear of the fluff. Mail-packets are supposed, under the Conference rules, to have the five-thousand-foot lanes tothemselves, but the foreigner in a hurry is apt to take liberties withEnglish air. "No. 162" lifts to a long-drawn wail of the breeze in thefore-flange of the rudder and we make Valencia (white, green, white) ata safe 7000 feet, dipping our beam to an incoming Washington packet. There is no cloud on the Atlantic, and faint streaks of cream roundDingle Bay show where the driven seas hammer the coast. A big S. A. T. A. Liner (Societe Anonyme des Transports Aeriens) is diving and liftinghalf a mile below us in search of some break in the solid west wind. Lower still lies a disabled Dane she is telling the liner all about itin International. Our General Communication dial has caught her talk andbegins to eavesdrop. Captain Hodgson makes a motion to shut it off butchecks himself. "Perhaps you'd like to listen, " he says. "Argol of St. Thomas, " the Dane whimpers. "Report owners three starboardshaft collar-bearings fused. Can make Flores as we are, but impossiblefurther. Shall we buy spares at Fayal?" The liner acknowledges and recommends inverting the bearings. The Argolanswers that she has already done so without effect, and begins torelieve her mind about cheap German enamels for collar-bearings. TheFrenchman assents cordially, cries "Courage, mon ami, " and switches off. Then lights sink under the curve of the ocean. "That's one of Lundt & Bleamers' boats, " says Captain Hodgson. "Serves'em right for putting German compos in their thrust-blocks. She won'tbe in Fayal to-night! By the way, wouldn't you like to look round theengine-room?" I have been waiting eagerly for this invitation and I follow CaptainHodgson from the control-platform, stooping low to avoid the bulgeof the tanks. We know that Fleury's gas can lift anything, as theworld-famous trials of '89 showed, but its almost indefinite powersof expansion necessitate vast tank room. Even in this thin air thelift-shunts are busy taking out one-third of its normal lift, and still"162" must be checked by an occasional downdraw of the rudder or ourflight would become a climb to the stars. Captain Purnall prefers anoverlifted to an underlifted ship; but no two captains trim ship alike. "When I take the bridge, " says Captain Hodgson, "you'll see me shuntforty per cent of the lift out of the gas and run her on the upperrudder. With a swoop upward instead of a swoop downward, as you say. Either way will do. It's only habit. Watch our dip-dial! Tim fetches herdown once every thirty knots as regularly as breathing. " So is it shown on the dip-dial. For five or six minutes the arrow creepsfrom 6700 to 7300. There is the faint "szgee" of the rudder, and backslides the arrow to 6000 on a falling slant of ten or fifteen knots. "In heavy weather you jockey her with the screws as well, " says CaptainHodgson, and, unclipping the jointed bar which divides the engine-roomfrom the bare deck, he leads me on to the floor. Here we find Fleury'sParadox of the Bulk-headed Vacuum--which we accept now withoutthought--literally in full blast. The three engines are H. T. &T. Assisted-vacuo Fleury turbines running from 3000 to the Limit--that isto say, up to the point when the blades make the air "bell"--cut out avacuum for themselves precisely as over-driven marine propellers usedto do. "162's" Limit is low on account of the small size of her ninescrews, which, though handier than the old colloid Thelussons, "bell"sooner. The midships engine, generally used as a reinforce, is notrunning; so the port and starboard turbine vacuum-chambers draw directinto the return-mains. The turbines whistle reflectively. From the low-arched expansion-tankson either side the valves descend pillarwise to the turbine-chests, and thence the obedient gas whirls through the spirals of blades with aforce that would whip the teeth out of a power saw. Behind, is its ownpressure held in leash of spurred on by the lift-shunts; before it, the vacuum where Fleury's Ray dances in violet-green bands and whirledturbillons of flame. The jointed U-tubes of the vacuum-chamber arepressure-tempered colloid (no glass would endure the strain for aninstant) and a junior engineer with tinted spectacles watches the Rayintently. It is the very heart of the machine--a mystery to this day. Even Fleury who begat it and, unlike Magniac, died a multi-millionaire, could not explain how the restless little imp shuddering in the U-tubecan, in the fractional fraction of a second, strike the furious blastof gas into a chill greyish-green liquid that drains (you can hear ittrickle) from the far end of the vacuum through the eduction-pipes andthe mains back to the bilges. Here it returns to its gaseous, one hadalmost written sagacious, state and climbs to work afresh. Bilge-tank, upper tank, dorsal-tank, expansion-chamber, vacuum, main-return (as aliquid), and bilge-tank once more is the ordained cycle. Fleury'sRay sees to that; and the engineer with the tinted spectacles sees toFleury's Ray. If a speck of oil, if even the natural grease of the humanfinger touch the hooded terminals, Fleury's Ray will wink and disappearand must be laboriously built up again. This means half a day's work forall hands and an expense of, one hundred and seventy-odd pounds to theG. P. O. For radium-salts and such trifles. "Now look at our thrust-collars. You won't find much German compo there. Full-jewelled, you see, " says Captain Hodgson as the engineer shuntsopen the top of a cap. Our shaft-bearings are C. M. C. (CommercialMinerals Company) stones, ground with as much care as the lens of atelescope. They cost L837 apiece. So far we have not arrived at theirterm of life. These bearings came from "No. 97, " which took them overfrom the old Dominion of Light which had them out of the wreck of thePersew aeroplane in the years when men still flew wooden kites over oilengines! They are a shining reproof to all low-grade German "ruby" enamels, so-called "boort" facings, and the dangerous and unsatisfactory aluminacompounds which please dividend-hunting owners and turn skippers crazy. The rudder-gear and the gas lift-shunt, seated side by side under theengine-room dials, are the only machines in visible motion. The formersighs from time to time as the oil plunger rises and falls half an inch. The latter, cased and guarded like the U-tube aft, exhibits anotherFleury Ray, but inverted and more green than violet. Its function isto shunt the lift out of the gas, and this it will do without watching. That is all! A tiny pump-rod wheezing and whining to itself beside asputtering green lamp. A hundred and fifty feet aft down the flat-toppedtunnel of the tanks a violet light, restless and irresolute. Between thetwo, three white-painted turbine-trunks, like eel-baskets laid on theirside, accentuate the empty perspectives. You can hear the trickle of theliquefied gas flowing from the vacuum into the bilge-tanks and the softgluck-glock of gaslocks closing as Captain Purnall brings "162" down bythe head. The hum of the turbines and the boom of the air on our skin isno more than a cotton-wool wrapping to the universal stillness. And weare running an eighteen-second mile. I peer from the fore end of the engine-room over the hatch-coamingsinto the coach. The mail-clerks are sorting the Winnipeg, Calgary, andMedicine Hat bags; but there is a pack of cards ready on the table. Suddenly a bell thrills; the engineers run to the turbine-valves andstand by; but the spectacled slave of the Ray in the U-tube neverlifts his head. He must watch where he is. We are hard-braked and goingastern; there is language from the Control Platform. "Tim's sparking badly about something, " says the unruffled CaptainHodgson. "Let's look. " Captain Purnall is not the suave man we left half an hour since, butthe embodied authority of the G. P. O. Ahead of us floats an ancient, aluminum-patched, twin-screw tramp of the dingiest, with no more rightto the 5000-foot lane than has a horse-cart to a modern road. Shecarries an obsolete "barbette" conning tower--a six-foot affair withrailed platform forward--and our warning beam plays on the top of itas a policeman's lantern flashes on the area sneak. Like a sneak-thief, too, emerges a shock-headed navigator in his shirt-sleeves. CaptainPurnall wrenches open the colloid to talk with him man to man. There aretimes when Science does not satisfy. "What under the stars are you doing here, you sky-scrapingchimney-sweep?" he shouts as we two drift side by side. "Do you knowthis is a Mail-lane? You call yourself a sailor, sir? You ain't fit topeddle toy balloons to an Esquimaux. Your name and number! Report andget down, and be--!" "I've been blown up once, " the shock-headed man cries, hoarsely, as adog barking. "I don't care two flips of a contact for anything you cando, Postey. " "Don't you, sir? But I'll make you care. I'll have you towed stern firstto Disko and broke up. You can't recover insurance if you're broke forobstruction. Do you understand that?" Then the stranger bellows: "Look at my propellers! There's been awulli-wa down below that has knocked us into umbrella-frames! We'vebeen blown up about forty thousand feet! We're all one conjuror's watchinside! My mate's arm's broke; my engineer's head's cut open; my Raywent out when the engines smashed; and. .. And. .. For pity's sake giveme my height, Captain! We doubt we're dropping. " "Six thousand eight hundred. Can you hold it?" Captain Purnall overlooksall insults, and leans half out of the colloid, staring and snuffing. The stranger leaks pungently. "We ought to blow into St. John's with luck. We're trying to plug thefore-tank now, but she's simply whistling it away, " her captain wails. "She's sinking like a log, " says Captain Purnall in an undertone. "Callup the Banks Mark Boat, George. " Our dip-dial shows that we, keepingabreast the tramp, have dropped five hundred feet the last few minutes. Captain Purnall presses a switch and our signal beam begins to swingthrough the night, twizzling spokes of light across infinity. "That'll fetch something, " he says, while Captain Hodgson watches theGeneral Communicator. He has called up the North Banks Mark Boat, a fewhundred miles west, and is reporting the case. "I'll stand by you, " Captain Purnall roars to the lone figure on theconning-tower. "Is it as bad as that?" comes the answer. "She isn't insured. She'smine. " "Might have guessed as much, " mutters Hodgson. "Owner's risk is theworst risk of all!" "Can't I fetch St. John's--not even with this breeze?" the voicequavers. "Stand by to abandon ship. Haven't you any lift in you, fore or aft?" "Nothing but the midship tanks, and they're none too tight. You see, myRay gave out and--" he coughs in the reek of the escaping gas. "You poor devil!" This does not reach our friend. "What does the MarkBoat say, George?" "Wants to know if there's any danger to traffic. Says she's in a bit ofweather herself, and can't quit station. I've turned in a General Call, so even if they don't see our beam some one's bound to help--or else wemust. Shall I clear our slings? Hold on! Here we are! A Planet liner, too! She'll be up in a tick!" "Tell her to have her slings ready, " cries his brother captain. "Therewon't be much time to spare. .. Tie up your mate, " he roars to thetramp. "My mate's all right. It's my engineer. He's gone crazy. " "Shunt the lift out of him with a spanner. Hurry!" "But I can make St. John's if you'll stand by. " "You'll make the deep, wet Atlantic in twenty minutes. You're less thanfifty-eight hundred now. Get your papers. " A Planet liner, east bound, heaves up in a superb spiral and takesthe air of us humming. Her underbody colloid is open land hertransporter-slings hang down like tentacles. We shut off our beam as sheadjusts herself--steering to a hair--over the tramp's conning-tower. The mate comes up, his arm strapped to his side, and stumbles into thecradle. A man with a ghastly scarlet head follows, shouting that he mustgo back and build up his Ray. The mate assures him that he will finda nice new Ray all ready in the liner's engine-room. The bandaged headgoes up wagging excitedly. A youth and a woman follow. The liner cheershollowly above us, and we see the passengers' faces at the salooncolloid. "That's a pretty girl. What's the fool waiting for now?" says CaptainPurnall. The skipper comes up, still appealing to us to stand by and see himfetch St. John's. He dives below and returns--at which we little humanbeings in the void cheer louder than ever--with the ship's kitten. Up fly the liner's hissing slings; her underbody crashes home and shehurtles away again. The dial shows less than 3000 feet. The Mark Boatsignals we must attend to the derelict, now whistling her death-song, asshe falls beneath us in long sick zigzags. "Keep our beam on her and send out a General Warning, " says CaptainPurnall, following her down. There is no need. Not a liner in air butknows the meaning of that vertical beam and gives us and our quarry awide berth. "But she'll drown in the water, won't she?" I ask. "Not always, " ishis answer. "I've known a derelict up-end and sift her engines out ofherself and flicker round the Lower Lanes for three weeks on her forwardtanks only. We'll run no risks. Pith her, George, and look sharp. There's weather ahead. " Captain Hodgson opens the underbody colloid, swings the heavypithing-iron out of its rack which in liners is generally cased as asmoking-room settee, and at two hundred feet releases the catch. Wehear the whir of the crescent-shaped arms opening as they descend. Thederelict's forehead is punched in, starred across, and rent diagonally. She falls stern first, our beam upon her; slides like a lost soul downthat pitiless ladder of light, and the Atlantic takes her. "A filthy business, " says Hodgson. "I wonder what it must have been likein the old days?" The thought had crossed my mind, too. What if that wavering carcass hadbeen filled with the men of the old days, each one of them taught (thatis the horror of it!) that, after death he would very possibly go forever to unspeakable torment? And scarcely a generation ago, we (one knows now that we are only ourfathers re-enlarged upon the earth), we, I say, ripped and rammed andpithed to admiration. Here Tim, from the Control Platform, shouts that we are to get into ourinflators and to bring him his at once. We hurry into the heavy rubber suits--the engineers are alreadydressed--and inflate at the air-pump taps. G. P. O. Inflators are thriceas thick as a racing man's "flickers, " and chafe abominably under thearmpits. George takes the wheel until Tim has blown himself up to theextreme of rotundity. If you kicked him off the c. P. To the deck hewould bounce back. But it is "162" that will do the kicking. "The Mark Boat's mad--stark ravin' crazy, " he snorts, returning tocommand. "She says there's a bad blow-out ahead and wants me to pullover to Greenland. I'll see her pithed first! We wasted half an hourfussing over that dead duck down under, and now I'm expected to gorubbin' my back all round the Pole. What does she think a Postalpacket's made of? Gummed silk? Tell her we're coming on straight, George. " George buckles him into the Frame and switches on the Direct Control. Now under Tim's left toe lies the port-engine Accelerator; under hisleft heel the Reverse, and so with the other foot. The lift-shunt stopsstand out on the rim of the steering-wheel where the fingers of his lefthand can play on them. At his right hand is the midships engine leverready to be thrown into gear at a moment's notice. He leans forwardin his belt, eyes glued to the colloid, and one ear cocked toward theGeneral Communicator. Henceforth he is the strength and direction of"162, " through whatever may befall. The Banks Mark Boat is reeling out pages of A. B. . C. Directions tothe traffic at large. We are to secure all "loose objects"; hood upour Fleury Rays; and "on no account to attempt to clear snow from ourconning-towers till the weather abates. " Under-powered craft, we aretold, can ascend to the limit of their lift, mail-packets to look outfor them accordingly; the lower lanes westward are pitting very badly, "with frequent blow-outs, vortices, laterals, etc. " Still the clear dark holds up unblemished. The only warning is theelectric skin-tension (I feel as though I were a lace-maker's pillow)and an irritability which the gibbering of the General Communicatorincreases almost to hysteria. We have made eight thousand feet since we pithed the tramp and ourturbines are giving us an honest two hundred and ten knots. Very far to the west an elongated blur of red, low down, shows us theNorth Banks Mark Boat. There are specks of fire round her rising andfalling--bewildered planets about an unstable sun--helpless shippinghanging on to her light for company's sake. No wonder she could not quitstation. She warns us to look out for the back-wash of the bad vortex in which(her beam shows it) she is even now reeling. The pits of gloom about us begin to fill with very faintly luminousfilms--wreathing and uneasy shapes. One forms itself into a globe ofpale flame that waits shivering with eagerness till we sweep by. Itleaps monstrously across the blackness, alights on the precise tip ofour nose, pirouettes there an instant, and swings off. Our roaring bowsinks as though that light were lead--sinks and recovers to lurch andstumble again beneath the next blow-out. Tim's fingers on the lift-shuntstrike chords of numbers--1:4:7:--2:4:6:--7:5:3, and so on; for he isrunning by his tanks only, lifting or lowering her against the uneasyair. All three engines are at work, for the sooner we have skated overthis thin ice the better. Higher we dare not go. The whole upper vaultis charged with pale krypton vapours, which our skin friction may exciteto unholy manifestations. Between the upper and lower levels--5000 and7000, hints the Mark Boat--we may perhaps bolt through if. .. Our bowclothes itself in blue flame and falls like a sword. No human skill cankeep pace with the changing tensions. A vortex has us by the beak andwe dive down a two-thousand foot slant at an angle (the dip-dial and mybouncing body record it) of thirty-five. Our turbines scream shrilly;the propellers cannot bite on the thin air; Tim shunts the lift out offive tanks at once and by sheer weight drives her bullet wise throughthe maelstrom till she cushions with jar on an up-gust, three thousandfeet below. "Now we've done it, " says George in my ear: "Our skin-friction, thatlast slide, has played Old Harry with the tensions! Look out forlaterals, Tim; she'll want some holding. " "I've got her, " is the answer. "Come up, old woman. " She comes up nobly, but the laterals buffet her left and right like thepinions of angry angels. She is jolted off her course four ways at once, and cuffed into place again, only to be swung aside and dropped intoa new chaos. We are never without a corposant grinning on our bows orrolling head over heels from nose to midships, and to the crackle ofelectricity around and within us is added once or twice the rattle ofhail--hail that will never fall on any sea. Slow we must or we may breakour back, pitch-poling. "Air's a perfectly elastic fluid, " roars George above the tumult. "Aboutas elastic as a head sea off the Fastnet, ain't it?" He is less than just to the good element. If one intrudes on the Heavenswhen they are balancing their volt-accounts; if one disturbs theHigh Gods' market-rates by hurling steel hulls at ninety knots acrosstremblingly adjusted electric tensions, one must not complain of anyrudeness in the reception. Tim met it with an unmoved countenance, onecorner of his under lip caught up on a tooth, his eyes fleeting intothe blackness twenty miles ahead, and the fierce sparks flying from hisknuckles at every turn of the hand. Now and again he shook his headto clear the sweat trickling from his eyebrows, and it was then thatGeorge, watching his chance, would slide down the life-rail and swab hisface quickly with a big red handkerchief. I never imagined that a humanbeing could so continuously labour and so collectedly think as did Timthrough that Hell's half-hour when the flurry was at its worst. We weredragged hither and yon by warm or frozen suctions, belched up on thetops of wulii-was, spun down by vortices and clubbed aside by lateralsunder a dizzying rush of stars in the company of a drunken moon. I heard the rushing click of the midship-engine-lever sliding in andout, the low growl of the lift-shunts, and, louder than the yellingwinds without, the scream of the bow-rudder gouging into any lull thatpromised hold for an instant. At last we began to claw up on a cant, bow-rudder and port-propeller together; only the nicest balancing oftanks saved us from spinning like the rifle-bullet of the old days. "We've got to hitch to windward of that Mark Boat somehow, " Georgecried. "There's no windward, " I protested feebly, where I swung shackled to astanchion. "How can there be?" He laughed--as we pitched into a thousand foot blow-out--that red manlaughed beneath his inflated hood! "Look!" he said. "We must clear those refugees with a high lift. " The Mark Boat was below and a little to the sou'west of us, fluctuatingin the centre of her distraught galaxy. The air was thick with movinglights at every level. I take it most of them were trying to lie head towind, but, not being hydras, they failed. An under-tanked Moghrabi boathad risen to the limit of her lift, and, finding no improvement, haddropped a couple of thousand. There she met a superb wulli-wa, and wasblown up spinning like a dead leaf. Instead of shutting off she wentastern and, naturally, rebounded as from a wall almost into the MarkBoat, whose language (our G. C. Took it in) was humanly simple. "If they'd only ride it out quietly it 'ud be better, " said George ina calm, while we climbed like a bat above them all. "But someskippers--will navigate without enough lift. What does that Tad-boatthink she is doing, Tim?" "Playin' kiss in the ring, " was Tim's unmoved reply. A Trans-AsiaticDirect liner had found a smooth and butted into it full power. But therewas a vortex at the tail of that smooth, so the T. A. D. Was flipped outlike a pea from off a finger-nail, braking madly as she fled down andall but over-ending. "Now I hope she's satisfied, " said Tim. "I'm glad I'm not aMark Boat. .. Do I want help?" The General Communicator dial had caughthis ear. "George, you may tell that gentleman with my love--love, remember, George--that I do not want help. Who is the officioussardine-tin?" "A Rimouski drogher on the look-out for a tow. " "Very kind of the Rimouski drogher. This postal packet isn't being towedat present. " "Those droghers will go anywhere on a chance of salvage, " Georgeexplained. "We call' em kittiwakes. " A long-beaked, bright steel ninety-footer floated at ease for oneinstant within hail of us, her slings coiled ready for rescues, anda single hand in her open tower. He was smoking. Surrendered to theinsurrection of the airs through which we tore our way, he lay inabsolute peace. I saw the smoke of his pipe ascend untroubled ere hisboat dropped, it seemed, like a stone in a well. We had just cleared the Mark Boat and her disorderly neighbours when thestorm ended as suddenly as it had begun. A shooting-star to northwardfilled the sky with the green blink of a meteorite dissipating itself inour atmosphere. Said George: "That may iron out all the tensions. " Even as he spoke, theconflicting winds came to rest; the levels filled; the laterals died outin long, easy swells; the air-ways were smoothed before us. In lessthan three minutes the covey round the Mark Boat had shipped theirpower-lights and whirred away upon their businesses. "What's happened?" I gasped. The nerve-store within and the volt-tinglewithout had passed: my inflators weighed like lead. "God, He knows!" said Captain George soberly "That old shooting-star'sskin-friction has discharged the different levels. I've seen it happenbefore. Phew: What a relief!" We dropped from ten to six thousand and got rid of our clammy suits. Tim shut off and stepped out of the Frame. The Mark Boat was coming upbehind us. He opened the colloid in that heavenly stillness and moppedhis face. "Hello, Williams!" he cried. "A degree or two out o' station, ain'tyou?" "May be, " was the answer from the Mark Boat. "I've had some company thisevening. " "So I noticed. Wasn't that quite a little draught?" "I warned you. Why didn't you pull out north? The east-bound packetshave. " "Me? Not till I'm running a Polar consumptives' sanatorium boat. I wassquinting through a colloid before you were out of your cradle, my son. " "I'd be the last man to deny it, " the captain of the Mark Boat repliessoftly. "The way you handled her just now--I'm a pretty fair judge oftraffic in a volt-hurry--it was a thousand revolutions beyond anythingeven I've ever seen. " Tim's back supples visibly to this oiling. Captain George on the c. P. Winks and points to the portrait of a singularly attractive maidenpinned up on Tim's telescope bracket above the steering-wheel. I see. Wholly and entirely do I see! There is some talk overhead of "coming round to tea on Friday, " a briefreport of the derelict's fate, and Tim volunteers as he descends: "Foran A. B. C. Man young Williams is less of a high-tension fool than some. Were you thinking of taking her on, George? Then I'll just have a lookround that port-thrust seems to me it's a trifle warm--and we'll jogalong. " The Mark Boat hums off joyously and hangs herself up in her appointedeyrie. Here she will stay a shutterless observatory; a life-boatstation; a salvage tug; a court of ultimate appeal-cum-meteorologicalbureau for three hundred miles in all directions, till Wednesday nextwhen her relief slides across the stars to take her buffeted place. Herblack hull, double conning-tower, and ever-ready slings representall that remains to the planet of that odd old word authority. She isresponsible only to the Aerial Board of Control the A. B. C. Of whichTim speaks so flippantly. But that semi-elected, semi-nominated bodyof a few score of persons of both sexes, controls this planet. "Transportation is Civilisation, " our motto runs. Theoretically, we dowhat we please so long as we do not interfere with the traffic ANDALL IT IMPLIES. Practically, the A. B. C. Confirms or annuls allinternational arrangements and, to judge from its last report, finds ourtolerant, humorous, lazy little planet only too ready to shift the wholeburden of public administration on its shoulders. I discuss this with Tim, sipping mate on the c. P. While George fansher along over the white blur of the Banks in beautiful upward curvesof fifty miles each. The dip-dial translates them on the tape in flowingfreehand. Tim gathers up a skein of it and surveys the last few feet, which record"162's" path through the volt-flurry. "I haven't had a fever-chart like this to show up in five years, " hesays ruefully. A postal packet's dip-dial records every yard of every run. The tapesthen go to the A. B. C. , which collates and makes composite photographsof them for the instruction of captains. Tim studies his irrevocablepast, shaking his head. "Hello! Here's a fifteen-hundred-foot drop at fifty-five degrees! Wemust have been standing on our heads then, George. " "You don't say so, " George answers. "I fancied I noticed it at thetime. " George may not have Captain Purnall's catlike swiftness, but he is allan artist to the tips of the broad fingers that play on the shunt-stops. The delicious flight-curves come away on the tape with never a waver. The Mark Boat's vertical spindle of light lies down to eastward, settingin the face of the following stars. Westward, where no planet shouldrise, the triple verticals of Trinity Bay (we keep still to the Southernroute) make a low-lifting haze. We seem the only thing at rest under allthe heavens; floating at ease till the earth's revolution shall turn upour landing-towers. And minute by minute our silent clock gives us a sixteen-second mile. "Some fine night, " says Tim, "we'll be even with that clock's Master. " "He's coming now, " says George, over his shoulder. "I'm chasing thenight west. " The stars ahead dim no more than if a film of mist had been drawn underunobserved, but the deep airboom on our skin changes to a joyful shout. "The dawn-gust, " says Tim. "It'll go on to meet the Sun. Look!Look! There's the dark being crammed back over our bows! Come to theafter-colloid. I'll show you something. " The engine-room is hot and stuffy; the clerks in the coach are asleep, and the Slave of the Ray is ready to follow them. Tim slides open theaft colloid and reveals the curve of the world--the ocean's deepestpurple--edged with fuming and intolerable gold. Then the Sun rises and through the colloid strikes out our lamps. Timscowls in his face. "Squirrels in a cage, " he mutters. "That's all we are. Squirrels ina cage! He's going twice as fast as us. Just you wait a few years, myshining friend, and we'll take steps that will amaze you. We'll Joshuayou!" Yes, that is our dream: to turn all earth into the Yale of Ajalon at ourpleasure. So far, we can drag out the dawn to twice its normal lengthin these latitudes. But some day--even on the Equator--we shall hold theSun level in his full stride. Now we look down on a sea thronged with heavy traffic. A big submersiblebreaks water suddenly. Another and another follows with a swash anda suck and a savage bubbling of relieved pressures. The deep-seafreighters are rising to lung up after the long night, and the leisurelyocean is all patterned with peacock's eyes of foam. "We'll lung up, too, " says Tim, and when we return to the c. P. Georgeshuts off, the colloids are opened, and the fresh air sweeps her out. There is no hurry. The old contracts (they will be revised at the end ofthe year) allow twelve hours for a run which any packet can put behindher in ten. So we breakfast in the arms of an easterly slant whichpushes us along at a languid twenty. To enjoy life, and tobacco, begin both on a sunny morning half a mile orso above the dappled Atlantic cloud-belts and after a volt-flurry whichhas cleared and tempered your nerves. While we discussed the thickeningtraffic with the superiority that comes of having a high level reservedto ourselves, we heard (and I for the first time) the morning hymn on aHospital boat. She was cloaked by a skein of ravelled fluff beneath us and we caughtthe chant before she rose into the sunlight. "Oh, ye Winds of God, " sangthe unseen voices: "bless ye the Lord! Praise Him and magnify Him forever!" We slid off our caps and joined in. When our shadow fell across hergreat open platforms they looked up and stretched out their handsneighbourly while they sang. We could see the doctors and the nursesand the white-button-like faces of the cot-patients. She passed slowlybeneath us, heading northward, her hull, wet with the dews of thenight, all ablaze in the sunshine. So took she the shadow of a cloudand vanished, her song continuing. "Oh, ye holy and humble men of heart, bless ye the Lord! Praise Him and magnify Him for ever. " "She's a public lunger or she wouldn't have been singing the Benedicite;and she's a Greenlander or she wouldn't have snow-blinds over hercolloids, " said George at last. "She'll be bound for Frederikshavn orone of the Glacier sanatoriums for a month. If she was an accident wardshe'd be hung up at the eight-thousand-foot level. Yes--consumptives. " "Funny how the new things are the old thing I've read in books, " Timanswered, "that savages used to haul their sick and wounded up tothe tops of hills because microbes were fewer there. We hoist 'em insterilized air for a while. Same idea. How much do the doctors say we'veadded to the average life of man?" "Thirty years, " says George with a twinkle in his eye. "Are we going tospend 'em all up here, Tim?" "Flap ahead, then. Flap ahead. Who's hindering?" the senior captainlaughed, as we went in. We held a good lift to clear the coastwise and Continental shipping;and we had need of it. Though our route is in no sense a populated one, there is a steady trickle of traffic this way along. We met Hudson Bayfurriers out of the Great Preserve, hurrying to make their departurefrom Bonavista with sable and black fox for the insatiable markets. Weovercossed Keewatin liners, small and cramped; but their captains, whosee no land between Trepassy and Lanco, know what gold they bring backfrom West Erica. Trans-Asiatic Directs we met, soberly ringing theworld round the Fiftieth Meridian at an honest seventy knots; andwhite-painted Ackroyd & Hunt fruiters out of the south fled beneath us, their ventilated hulls whistling like Chinese kites. Their market isin the North among the northern sanatoria where you can smell theirgrape-fruit and bananas across the cold snows. Argentine beef boats wesighted too, of enormous capacity and unlovely outline. They, too, feedthe northern health stations in icebound ports where submersibles darenot rise. Yellow-bellied ore-flats and Ungava petrol-tanks punted down leisurelyout of the north, like strings of unfrightened wild duck. It does notpay to "fly" minerals and oil a mile farther than is necessary; but therisks of transhipping to submersibles in the ice pack off Nain or Hebronare so great that these heavy freighters fly down to Halifax direct, andscent the air as they go. They are the biggest tramps aloft except theAthabasca grain-tubs. But these last, now that the wheat is moved, arebusy, over the world's shoulder, timber-lifting in Siberia. We held to the St. Lawrence (it is astonishing how the old water-waysstill pull us children of the air), and followed his broad line of blackbetween its drifting iceblocks, all down the Park that the wisdom of ourfathers--but every one knows the Quebec run. We dropped to the Heights Receiving Towers twenty minutes ahead of time, and there hung at ease till the Yokohama Intermediate Packet could pullout and give us our proper slip. It was curious to watch the action ofthe holding-down clips all along the frosty river front as the boatscleared or came to rest. A big Hamburger was leaving Pont Levis and hercrew, unshipping the platform railings, began to sing "Elsinore"--theoldest of our chanteys. You know it of course: Mother Rugen's tea-house on the Baltic Forty couple waltzing on the floor! And you can watch my Ray, For I must go away And dance with Ella Sweyn at Elsinore! Then, while they sweated home the covering-plates: Nor-Nor-Nor-Nor West from Sourabaya to the Baltic-- Ninety knot an hour to the Skaw! Mother Rugen's tea-house on the Baltic And a dance with Ella Sweyn at Elsinore! The clips parted with a gesture of indignant dismissal, as thoughQuebec, glittering under her snows, were casting out these light andunworthy lovers. Our signal came from the Heights. Tim turned andfloated up, but surely then it was with passionate appeal that the greattower arms flung open--or did I think so because on the upper staging alittle hooded figure also opened her arms wide toward her father? * * * * * * * * In ten seconds the coach with its clerks clashed down to thereceiving-caisson; the hostlers displaced the engineers at the idleturbines, and Tim, prouder of this than all, introduced me to themaiden of the photograph on the shelf. "And by the way, " said he to her, stepping forth in sunshine under the hat of civil life, "I saw youngWilliams in the Mark Boat. I've asked him to tea on Friday. " AERIAL BOARD OF CONTROL Lights No changes in English Inland lights for week ending Dec. 18th. CAPE VERDE--Week ending Dec. 18. Verde inclined guide-light changes from1st proximo to triple flash--green white green--in place of occultingred as heretofore. The warning light for Harmattan winds will becontinuous vertical glare (white) on all oases of trans-Saharan N. E. ByE. Main Routes. INVERCARGIL (N. Z. )--From 1st prox. : extreme southerly light (doublered) will exhibit white beam inclined 45 degrees on approach ofSoutherly Buster. Traffic flies high off this coast between April andOctober. TABLE BAY--Devil's Peak Glare removed to Simonsberg. Traffic makingTable Mountain coastwise keep all lights from Three Anchor Bay at leasttwo thousand feet under, and do not round to till East of E. ShoulderDevil's Peak. SANDHEADS LIGHT--Green triple vertical marks new private landing-stagefor Bay and Burma traffic only. SNAEFELL JOKUL--White occulting light withdrawn for winter. PATAGONIA--No summer light south Cape Pilar. This includes Staten Islandand Port Stanley. C. NAVARIN--Quadruple fog flash (white), one minute intervals (new). EAST CAPE--Fog--flash--single white with single bomb, 30 sec. Intervals(new). MALAYAN ARCHIPELAGO--Lights unreliable owing eruptions. Lay from CapeSomerset to Singapore direct, keeping highest levels. For the Board: CATTERTHUN } ST. JUST } Lights. VAN HEDDER } Casualties Week ending Dec. 18th. SABLE ISLAND--Green single barbette-tower freighter, numberindistinguishable, up-ended, and fore-tank pierced after collision, passed 300-ft. Level Q P. As Dec. 15th. Watched to water and pithed byMark Boat. N. F. BANKS--Postal Packet 162 reports Halma freighter (Fowey--St. John's) abandoned, leaking after weather, 46 151 N. 50 15' W. Crewrescued by Planet liner Asteroid. Watched to water and pithed by PostalPacket, Dec. 14th. KERGUELEN, MARK BOAT reports last call from Cymena freighter (GayerTong Huk & Co. ) taking water and sinking in snow-storm South McDonaldIslands. No wreckage recovered. Messages and wills of crew at all A. B. C. Offices. FEZZAN--T. A. D. Freighter Ulema taken ground during Harmattan on AkakusRange. Under plates strained. Crew at Ghat where repairing Dec. 13th. BISCAY, MARK BOAT reports Caducci (Valandingham Line) slightly spiked inwestern gorge Point de Benasdue. Passengers transferred Andorra (FultonLine). Barcelona Mark Boat salving cargo Dec. 12th. ASCENSION, MARE BOAT--Wreck of unknown racing-plane, Parden rudder, wire-stiffened xylonite vans, and Harliss engine-seating, sighted andsalved 7 20' S. 18 41' W. Dec. 15th. Photos at all A. B. C. Offices. Missing No answer to General Call having been received during the last week fromfollowing overdues, they are posted as missing: Atlantis, W. 17630. Canton--Valparaiso Audhumla W. 889. Stockholm--Odessa Berenice, W. 2206. .. Riga--Vladivostock Draw, E. 446. . Coventry--Pontes Arenas Tontine, E. 5068. C. Wrath--Ungava Wu-Sung, E. 41776. . Hankow--Lobito Bay General Call (all Mark Boats) out for: Jane Eyre, W. 6990. Port Rupert--City of Mexico Santander, W. 6514. . Gobi Desert--Manila Y. Edmundsun, E. 9690. . Kandahar--Fiume Broke for Obstruction, and Quitting Levels VALKYRIE (racing plane), A. J. Hartley owner, New York (twice warned). GEISHA (racing plane), S. Van Cott owner, Philadelphia (twice warned). MARVEL of PERU (racing plane), J. X. Peixoto owner, Rio deJaneiro (twice warned). For the Board: LAZAREFF } McKEOUGH } Traffic GOLDBRATT } NOTES High-Level Sleet The Northern weather so far shows no sign of improvement. From allquarters come complaints of the unusual prevalence of sleet at thehigher levels. Racing planes and digs alike have suffered severely--theformer from 'unequal deposits of half-frozen slush on their vans (andonly those who have "held up" a badly balanced plane in a cross-windknow what that means), and the latter from loaded bows and snow-casedbodies. As a consequence, the Northern and North-western upper levelshave been practically abandoned, and the high fliers have returned tothe ignoble security of the Three, Five, and Six hundred foot levels. But there remain a few undaunted sun-hunters who, in spite of frozenstays and ice-jammed connecting-rods, still haunt the blue empyrean. Bat-Boat Racing The scandals of the past few years have at last moved the yachting worldto concerted action in regard to "bat" boat racing. We have been treatedto the spectacle of what are practically keeled racing-planes driven aclear five foot or more above the water, and only eased down to touchtheir so-called "native element" as they near the line. Judges andstarters have been conveniently blind to this absurdity, but the publicdemonstration off St. Catherine's Light at the Autumn Regattas has borneample, if tardy, fruit. In the future the "bat" is to be a boat, andthe long-unheeded demand of the true sportsman for "no daylight undermid-keel in smooth water" is in a fair way to be conceded. The new ruleseverely restricts plane area and lift alike. The gas compartments arepermitted both fore and aft, as in the old type, but the water-ballastcentral tank is rendered obligatory. These things work, if notfor perfection, at least for the evolution of a sane and wholesomewaterborne cruiser. The type of rudder is unaffected by the new rules, so we may expect to see the Long-Davidson make (the patent on which hasjust expired) come largely into use henceforward, though the strainon the sternpost in turning at speeds over forty miles an hour isadmittedly very severe. But bat-boat racing has a great future beforeit. Crete and the A. B. C. The story of the recent Cretan crisis, as told in the A. B. C. MonthlyReport, is not without humour. Till the 25th October Crete, as all ourplanet knows, was the sole surviving European repository of "autonomousinstitutions, " "local self-government, " and the rest of the archaiclumber devised in the past for the confusion of human affairs. Shehas lived practically on the tourist traffic attracted by her annualpageants of Parliaments, Boards, Municipal Councils, etc. , etc. Lastsummer the islanders grew wearied, as their premier explained, of"playing at being savages for pennies, " and proceeded to pull down allthe landing-towers on the island and shut off general communication tillsuch time as the A. B. C. Should annex them. For side-splitting comedywe would refer our readers to the correspondence between the Board ofControl and the Cretan premier during the "war. " However, all's wellthat ends well. The A. B. C. Have taken over the administration of Creteon normal lines; and tourists must go elsewhere to witness the "debates, ""resolutions, " and "popular movements" of the old days. The only peopleto suffer will be the Board of Control, which is grievously overworkedalready. It is easy enough to condemn the Cretans for theirlaziness; but when one recalls the large, prosperous, and presumablypublic-spirited communities which during the last few years havedeliberately thrown themselves into the hands of the A. B. C. , one, cannot be too hard upon St. Paul's old friends. CORRESPONDENCE Skylarking on the Equator To THE EDITOR: Only last week, while crossing the Equator (W. 26-15), I became aware of a furious and irregular cannonading some fifteen ortwenty knots S. 4 E. Descending to the 500 ft. Level, I found a partyof Transylvanian tourists engaged in exploding scores of the largestpattern atmospheric bombs (A. B. C. Standard) and, in the intervals oftheir pleasing labours, firing bow and stern smoke-ring swivels. Thisorgie--I can give it no other name--went on for at least two hours, and naturally produced violent electric derangements. My compasses, ofcourse, were thrown out, my bow was struck twice, and I received twobrisk shocks from the lower platform-rail. On remonstrating, I was toldthat these "professors" were engaged in scientific experiments. Theextent of their "scientific" knowledge, may be judged by the fact thatthey expected to produce (I give their own words) "a little blue sky"if "they went on long enough. " This in the heart of the Doldrums at 450feet! I have no objection to any amount of blue sky in its proper place(it can be found at the 4000 level for practically twelve months out ofthe year), but I submit, with all deference to the educational needs ofTransylvania, that "skylarking" in the centre of a main-travelled roadwhere, at the best of times, electricity literally drips off one'sstanchions and screw blades, is unnecessary. When my friends hadfinished, the road was seared, and blown, and pitted with unequalpressure layers, spirals, vortices, and readjustments for at leastan hour. I pitched badly twice in an upward rush--solely due to thesediabolical throw-downs--that came near to wrecking my propeller. Equatorial work at low levels is trying enough in all conscience withoutthe added terrors of scientific hooliganism in the Doldrums. Rhyl. J. VINCENT MATHEN. [We entirely sympathize with Professor Mathen's views, but tillthe Board sees fit to further regulate the Southern areas in whichscientific experiments may be conducted, we shall always be exposed tothe risk which our correspondent describes. Unfortunately, a chimerabombinating in a vacuum is, nowadays, only too capable of producingsecondary causes. --Editor. ] Answers to Correspondents VIGILANS--The Laws of Auroral Derangements are still imperfectlyunderstood. Any overheated motor may of course "seize" without warning;but so many complaints have reached us of accidents similar to yourswhile shooting the Aurora that we are inclined to believe with Lavallethat the upper strata of the Aurora Borealis are practically one bigelectric "leak, " and that the paralysis of your engines was due tocomplete magnetization of all metallic parts. Low-flying planes often"glue up" when near the Magnetic Pole, and there is no reason in sciencewhy the same disability should not be experienced at higher levels whenthe Auroras are "delivering" strongly. INDIGNANT--On your own showing, you were not under control. Thatyou could not hoist the necessary N. U. C. Lights on approaching atraffic-lane because your electrics had short-circuited is a misfortunewhich might befall any one. The A. B. C. , being responsible for theplanet's traffic, cannot, however, make allowance for this kind ofmisfortune. A reference to the Code will show that you were fined on thelower scale. PLANISTON--(1) The Five Thousand Kilometre (overland) was won last yearby L. V. Rautsch; R. M. Rautsch, his brother, in the same week pullingoff the Ten Thousand (oversee). R. M. 's average worked out at afraction over 500 kilometres per hour, thus constituting a record. (2) Theoretically, there is no limit to the lift of a dirigible. Forcommercial and practical purposes 15, 000 tons is accepted as the mostmanageable. PATERFAMILIAS--None whatever. He is liable for direct damage both toyour chimneys and any collateral damage caused by fall of bricks intogarden, etc. , etc. Bodily inconvenience and mental anguish maybe included, but the average courts are not, as a rule, swayed bysentiment. If you can prove that his grapnel removed any portion ofyour roof, you had better rest your case on decoverture of domicile (seeParkins v. Duboulay). We sympathize with your position, but the nightof the 14th was stormy and confused, and--you may have to anchor on astranger's chimney yourself some night. Verbum sap! ALDEBARAN--(1) war, as a paying concern, ceased in 1987. (2) TheConvention of London expressly reserves to every nation the right ofwaging war so long as it does not interfere with the traffic and allthat implies. (3) The A. B. C. Was constituted in 1949. L. M. P. --(1) Keep her full head-on at half power, taking advantage ofthe lulls to speed up and creep into it. She will strain much less thisway than in quartering across a gale. (2) Nothing is to be gained byreversing into a following gale, and there is always risk of a turnover. (3) The formulae for stun'sle brakes are uniformly unreliable, and willcontinue to be so as long as air is compressible. PEGAMOID--(1) Personally we prefer glass or flux compounds to any othermaterial for winter work nose-caps as being absolutely non-hygroscopic. (2) We cannot recommend any particular make. PULMONAR--(1) For the symptoms you describe, try the Gobi DesertSanatoria. The low levels of most of the Saharan Sanatoria are againstthem except at the outset of the disease. (2) We do not recommendboarding-houses or hotels in this column. BEGINNER--On still days the air above a large inhabited city beingslightly warmer--i. E. , thinner--than the atmosphere of the surroundingcountry, a plane drops a little on entering the rarefied area, preciselyas a ship sinks a little in fresh water. Hence the phenomena of "jolt"and your "inexplicable collisions" with factory chimneys. In air, as onearth, it is safest to fly high. EMERGENCY--There is only one rule of the road in air, earth, and water. Do you want the firmament to yourself? PICCIOLA--Both Poles have been overdone in Art and Literature. Leavethem to Science for the next twenty years. You did not send a stamp withyour verses. NORTH NIGERIA--The Mark Boat was within her right in warning you off theReserve. The shadow of a low-flying dirigible scares the game. You canbuy all the photos you need at Sokoto. NEW ERA--It is not etiquette to overcross an A. B. C. Official's boatwithout asking permission. He is one of the body responsible for theplanet's traffic, and for that reason must not be interfered with. You, presumably, are out on your own business or pleasure, and must leave himalone. For humanity's sake don't try to be "democratic. " EXCORIATED--All inflators chafe sooner or later. You must go on tillyour skin hardens by practice. Meantime vaseline. REVIEW The Life of Xavier Lavalle (Reviewed by Rene Talland. Ecole Aeronautique, Paris) Ten years ago Lavalle, "that imperturbable dreamer of the heavens, "as Lazareff hailed him, gathered together the fruits of a lifetime'slabour, and gave it, with well-justified contempt, to a world boundhand and foot to Barald's Theory of Vertices and "compensating electricnodes. " "They shall see, " he wrote--in that immortal postscript to TheHeart of the Cyclone--"the Laws whose existence they derided written infire beneath them. " "But even here, " he continues, "there is no finality. Better a thousandtimes my conclusions should be discredited than that my dead name shouldlie across the threshold of the temple of Science--a bar to furtherinquiry. " So died Lavalle--a prince of the Powers of the Air, and even at hisfuneral Cellier jested at "him who had gone to discover the secrets ofthe Aurora Borealis. " If I choose thus to be banal, it is only to remind you that Collier'stheories are today as exploded as the ludicrous deductions of theSpanish school. In the place of their fugitive and warring dreams wehave, definitely, Lavalle's Law of the Cyclone which he surprised indarkness and cold at the foot of the overarching throne of the AuroraBorealis. It is there that I, intent on my own investigations, havepassed and re-passed a hundred times the worn leonine face, white as thesnow beneath him, furrowed with wrinkles like the seams and gashes uponthe North Cape; the nervous hand, integrally a part of the mechanism ofhis flighter; and above all, the wonderful lambent eyes turned to thezenith. "Master, " I would cry as I moved respectfully beneath him, "what is ityou seek today?" and always the answer, clear and without doubt, fromabove: "The old secret, my son!" The immense egotism of youth forced me on my own path, but (cry of thehuman always!) had I known--if I had known--I would many times havebartered my poor laurels for the privilege, such as Tinsley and Herrerapossess, of having aided him in his monumental researches. It is to the filial piety of Victor Lavalle that we owe the two volumesconsecrated to the ground-life of his father, so full of the holyintimacies of the domestic hearth. Once returned from the abysms of theutter North to that little house upon the outskirts of Meudon, it wasnot the philosopher, the daring observer, the man of iron energy thatimposed himself on his family, but a fat and even plaintive jester, afarceur incarnate and kindly, the co-equal of his children, and, it mustbe written, not seldom the comic despair of Madame Lavalle, who, as shewrites five years after the marriage, to her venerable mother, found "inthis unequalled intellect whose name I bear the abandon of a large andvery untidy boy. " Here is her letter: "Xavier returned from I do not know where at midnight, absorbed incalculations on the eternal question of his Aurora--la belle Aurore, whom I begin to hate. Instead of anchoring, --I had set out theguide-light above our roof, so he had but to descend and fasten theplane--he wandered, profoundly distracted, above the town with hisanchor down! Figure to yourself, dear mother, it is the roof of themayor's house that the grapnel first engages! That I do not regret, forthe mayor's wife and I are not sympathetic; but when Xavier uproots mypet araucaria and bears it across the garden into the conservatory Iprotest at the top of my voice. Little Victor in his night-clothes runsto the window, enormously amused at the parabolic flight without reason, for it is too dark to see the grapnel, of my prized tree. The Mayorof Meudon, thunders at our door in the name of the Law, demanding, I suppose, my husband's head. Here is the conversation through themegaphone--Xavier is two hundred feet above us: "'Mons. Lavalle, descend and make reparation for outrage of domicile. Descend, Mons. Lavalle!' "No one answers. "'Xavier Lavalle, in the name of the Law, descend and submit to processfor outrage of domicile. ' "Xavier, roused from his calculations, comprehending only the lastwords: 'Outrage of domicile? My dear mayor, who is the man that hascorrupted thy Julie?' "The mayor, furious, 'Xavier Lavalle--' "Xavier, interrupting: 'I have not that felicity. I am only a dealer incyclones!' "My faith, he raised one then! All Meudon attended in the streets, andmy Xavier, after a long time comprehending what he had done, excusedhimself in a thousand apologies. At last the reconciliation was effectedin our house over a supper at two in the morning--Julie in a wonderfulcostume of compromises, and I have her and the mayor pacified in bed inthe blue room. " And on the next day, while the mayor rebuilds his roof, her Xavierdeparts anew for the Aurora Borealis, there to commence his life's work. M. Victor Lavalle tells us of that historic collision (en plane) on theflank of Hecla between Herrera, then a pillar of the Spanish school, and the man destined to confute his theories and lead him intellectuallycaptive. Even through the years, the immense laugh of Lavalle as hesustains the Spaniard's wrecked plane, and cries: "Courage! I shall notfall till I have found Truth, and I hold you fast!" rings like thecall of trumpets. This is that Lavalle whom the world, immersed inspeculations of immediate gain, did not know nor suspect--the Lavallewhom they adjudged to the last a pedant and a theorist. The human, as apart from the scientific, side (developed in his ownvolumes) of his epoch-making discoveries is marked with a simplicity, clarity, and good sense beyond praise. I would specially refer such asdoubt the sustaining influence of ancestral faith upon character andwill to the eleventh and nineteenth chapters, in which are containedthe opening and consummation of the Tellurionical Records extending overnine years. Of their tremendous significance be sure that the modesthouse at Meudon knew as little as that the Records would one day be theplanet's standard in all official meteorology. It was enough forthem that their Xavier--this son, this father, this husband--ascendedperiodically to commune with powers, it might be angelic, beyond theircomprehension, and that they united daily in prayers for his safety. "Pray for me, " he says upon the eve of each of his excursions, andreturning, with an equal simplicity, he renders thanks "after supper inthe little room where he kept his barometers. " To the last Lavalle was a Catholic of the old school, accepting--he whohad looked into the very heart of the lightnings--the dogmas of papalinfallibility, of absolution, of confession--of relics great and small. Marvellous--enviable contradiction! The completion of the Tellurionical Records closed what Lavalle himselfwas pleased to call the theoretical side of his labours--labours fromwhich the youngest and least impressionable planeur might well haveshrunk. He had traced through cold and heat, across the deeps of theoceans, with instruments of his own invention, over the inhospitableheart of the polar ice and the sterile visage of the deserts, league byleague, patiently, unweariedly, remorselessly, from their ever-shiftingcradle under the magnetic pole to their exalted death-bed in the utmostether of the upper atmosphere each one of the Isoconical TellurionsLavalle's Curves, as we call them today. He had disentangled the nodesof their intersections, assigning to each its regulated period of fluxand reflux. Thus equipped, he summons Herrera and Tinsley, his pupils, to the final demonstration as calmly as though he were ordering hisflighter for some mid-day journey to Marseilles. "I have proved my thesis, " he writes. "It remains now only that youshould witness the proof. We go to Manila to-morrow. A cyclone will formoff the Pescadores S. 17 E. In four days, and will reach its maximumintensity twenty-seven hours after inception. It is there I will showyou the Truth. " A letter heretofore unpublished from Herrera to Madame Lavalle tells ushow the Master's prophecy was verified. I will not destroy its simplicity or its significance by any attempt toquote. Note well, though, that Herrera's preoccupation throughout thatday and night of superhuman strain is always for the Master's bodilyhealth and comfort. "At such a time, " he writes, "I forced the Master to take the broth"; or"I made him put on the fur coat as you told me. " Nor is Tinsley (seepp. 184, 85) less concerned. He prepares the nourishment. He cookseternally, imperturbably, suspended in the chaos of which the Masterinterprets the meaning. Tinsley, bowed down with the laurels of bothhemispheres, raises himself to yet nobler heights in his capacity of adevoted chef. It is almost unbelievable! And yet men write of the Masteras cold, aloof, self-contained. Such characters do not elicit the joyousand unswerving devotion which Lavalle commanded throughout life. Truly, we have changed very little in the course of the ages! The secrets ofearth and sky and the links that bind them, we felicitate ourselveswe are on the road to discover; but our neighbours' heart and mind wemisread, we misjudge, we condemn now as ever. Let all, then, who love aman read these most human, tender, and wise volumes. ************* Transcriber's note: These "advertisements" appeared in the format that would have been used in a newspaper or magazine ad section--that is in two columns for the smaller ads, and in quarter, half, full and double page layouts for the others. Also L is used as the symbol for pounds. ************* ------------------------------------------------ MISCELLANEOUS [ WANTS ] REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY, FOR East Africa, a thoroughly competent Plane and Dirigible Driver, acquainted with Petrol Radium and Helium motors and generators. Low-level work only, but must understand heavy-weight digs. MOSSAMEDES TRANSPORT ASSOC. 84 Palestine Buildings, E. C. ------------------------------------------------ MAN WANTED-DIG DRIVER for Southern Alps with Saharan summer trips. High levels, high speed, high wages: Apply M. SIDNEY Hotel San Stefano. Monte Carlo. ------------------------------------------------ FAMILY DIRIGIBLE. A COMPETENT, steady man wanted for slow speed, low level Tangye dirigible. No night work, no sea trips. Must be member of the Church of England, and make himself useful in the garden. M. R. The Rectory, Gray's Barton, Wilts. ------------------------------------------------ COMMERCIAL DIG, CENTRAL and Southern Europe. A smart, active man for a L. M. T. Dig. Night work only. Headquarters London and Cairo. A linguist preferred. BAGMAN Charing Cross Hotel, W. C. (urgent. ) ------------------------------------------------ FOR SALE--A BARGAIN--Single Plane, narrow-gauge vans, Pinke motor. Restayed this autumn. Hansen air-kit, 58 in. Chest, 153 collar. Can be seen by appointment. N. 2650 This office. ------------------------------------------------ The BEE-LINE BOOKSHOP BELT'S WAY-BOOKS, giving town lights for all towns over 4, 000 pop. As laid down by A. B. O. THE WORLD. Complete 2 vols. Thin Oxford, limp back. 12L 6d. BELT'S COASTAL ITINERARY. Short Lights of the World. 7s. 6d. THE TRANSATLANTIC AND MEDITERRANEAN TRAFFIC LINES. (By authority of the A. B. C. ) Paper, 1s. 6d. ; cloth. 2s. 6d. Ready, Jan. 16. ARCTIC AEROPLANING. Siemens and Gait. Cloth, bds. Ss. 6d. LAVALLE'S HEART OF THE CYCLONE, with supplementary charts. 4s. 6d. RIMINGTON'S PITFALLS IN THE AIR, and Table of Comparative Densities 3s. 6d. ANGELO'S DESERT IN A DIRIGIBLE. New edition, revised. 5s. 9d. VAUGHAN'S PLANE RACING IN CALM AND STORM. 2s. 6d. VAUGHAN'S HINTS TO THE AIRMATEUR 1s. HOFMAN'S LAWS OF LIFT AND VELOCITY. With diagrams, 3s. 6d. DE VITRE'S THEORY OF SHIFTING BALLAST IN DIRIGIBLES. 2s. 6d. SANGERS WEATHERS OF THE WORLD. 4s. SANGER'S TEMPERATURES AT HIGH ALTITUDES. 4s. HAWKIN'S FOG AND HOW To AVOID IT. 3s. VAN ZUYLAN'S SECONDARY EFFECTS OF THUNDERSTORMS. 4s. 6d. DAHLGREN'S AIR CURRENTS AND EPIDEMIC DISEASES. 5s. 6d. REDMAYNE'S DISEASE AND THE BAROMETER. 7s. 6d. WALTON'S HEALTH RESORTS OF THE GOBI AND SHAMO. 3s. 6d. WALTON'S THE POLE AND PULMONARY COMPLAINTS. 7s. Ad. MUTLOWS HIGH LEVEL BACTERIOLOGY. 7s. 6d. HALLIWELL'S ILLUMINATED STAR MAP, with clockwork attachment, giving apparent motion of heavens, boxed, complete with clamps for binnacle, 36 inch size, only L2. 2. 0. Invaluable for night work. ) With A. B. C. Certificate. L3. 10s. 0d. Zalinski's Standard Works: PASSES OF THE HIMALAYAS, 5s. PASSES OF THE SIERRAS, 5s. PASSES OF THE ROOKIES. 5s. PASSES OF THE URALS, 5s. The four boxed, limp cloth, with charts, 15s. GRAY'S AIR CURRENTS at MOUNTAIN GORGES, 7s. 6d. A. C. BELT & SON, READING ------------------------------------------------ SAFETY WEAR FOR AERONAUTS ------------------------------------------------ Fickers! Flickers! Flickers! HIGH LEVEL FLICKERS "He that is down need fear no fall, " Fear not! You will fall lightly as down! Hansen's air-kits are down in all respects. Tremendous reductions in prices previous to winter stocking. Pure para kit with cellulose seat and shoulder-pads, weighted to balance. Unequalled for all drop-work. Our trebly resilient heavy kit is the ne plus ultra of comfort and safety. Gas-buoyed, waterproof, hail-proof, nonconducting Flickers with pipe and nozzle fitting all types of generator. Graduated tap on left hip. Hansen's Flickers Lead the Aerial Flight 197 Oxford Street The new weighted Flicker with tweed or cheviot surface cannot be distinguished from the ordinary suit till inflated. Fickers! Flickers! Flickers! ------------------------------------------------ APPLIANCES FOR AIR PLANES ------------------------------------------------ What "SKID" was to our forefathers on the ground, "PITCH" is to their sons in the air. The popularity of the large, unwieldy, slow, expensive Dirigible over the light swift, Plane is mainly due to the former's immunity from pitch. Collison's forward-socketed Air Van renders it impossible for any plane to pitch. The C. F. S. Is automatic, simple as a shutter, certain\ as a power hammer, safe as oxygen. Fitted to any make of plane. COLLISON 186 Brompton Road Workshops, Chiswick LUNDIE do MATTERS Sole Agts for East'n Hemisphere ------------------------------------------------ STARTERS AND GUIDES Hotel, club, and private house plane-starters, slips and guides affixed by skilled workmen in accordance with local building laws. Rackstraww's forty-foot collapsible steel starters with automatic release at end of travel--prices per foot run, clamps and crampons included. The safest on the market. Weaver & Denison Middleboro ------------------------------------------------ AIR PLANES AND DIRIGIBLE GOODS ------------------------------------------------ REMEMBER Planes are swift--so is Death Planes are cheap--so is Life Why does the plane builder insist on the safety of his machines? Methinks the gentleman protests too much. The Standard Dig Construction Company do not build kites. They build, equip and guarantee dirigibles. Standard Dig construction Co. Millwall and Buenos Ayres ------------------------------------------------ HOVERS POWELL'S Wind Hovers for 'planes lying-to in heavy weather, save the motor and strain on the forebody. Will not send to leeward. "Albatross" wind-hovers, rigid-ribbed; according to h. P. And weight. We fit and test free to 40 east of Greenwich Village L. & W. POWELL 196 Victoria Street, W. ------------------------------------------------ REMEMBER We shall always be pleased to see you. We build and test and guarantee our dirigibles or all purposes. They go up when you please and they do not come down till you please. You can please yourself, but--you might as well choose a dirigible. STANDARD DIRIGIBLE CONSTRUCTION CO. Millwall and Buenos Ayres ------------------------------------------------ GAYER AND HUNT Birmingham and Birmingham Eng. Ala. Towers. Landing Stages, Slips and Lifts public and private Contractors to the A. B. C. , South-Western European Postal Construction Dept. Sole patentees and owners of the Collison anti-quake diagonal tower-tie. Only gold medal Kyoto Exhibition of Aerial Appliances, 1997. ------------------------------------------------ AIR PLANES AND DIRIGIBLES ------------------------------------------------ C. M. C. Our Synthetical Mineral BEARINGS are chemically and crystal logically identical with the minerals whose names they bear. Any size, any surface. Diamond, Rock-Crystal, Agate and Ruby Bearings-cups, caps and collars for the higher speeds. For tractor bearings and spindles-Imperative. For rear propellers-Indispensable. For all working parts-Advisable. Commercial Minerals Co. 107 Minories ------------------------------------------------ RESURGAM! If you have not Clothed YOURSELF in a NORMANDIE RESURGAM YOU WILL PROBABLY NOT BE INTERESTED IN OUR NEXT WEEK'S LIST OF AIR-KIT. RESURGAM AIR-KIT EMPORIUM HYMANS & GRAHAM 1198 Lower Broadway, New York ------------------------------------------------ REMEMBER! ------------------------------------------------ * It is now nearly, a generation since the Plane was to supersede the Dirigible for all purposes. * TO-DAY none of the Planet's freight is carried en plane. * Less than two per rent of the Planet's passengers are carried en plane. We design, equip guarantee Dirigibles for all purposes. Standard Dig Construction Company MILLWALL and BUENOS AYRES ------------------------------------------------ BAT-BOATS ------------------------------------------------ FLINT & MANTEL SOUTHAMPTON FOR SALE at the end of Season the following Bat-Boats: GRISELDA, 65 knt. , 42 ft. , 430(nom. ) Maginnis Motor, under-rake rudder. MABELLE, 50 knt. , 40 ft. , 310 Hargreaves Motor, Douglas' lock-steering gear. IVEMONA, 50 knt. , 35 ft. , 300 Hargreaves (Radium accelerator), Miller keel and rudder. The above are well known on the South Coast as sound, wholesome knockabout boats, with ample cruising accommodation. Griselda carries spare set of Hofman racing vans and can be lied three foot clear in smooth water with ballast-tank swung aft. The others do not lift, clear of water, and are recommended for beginners. Also, by private treaty, racing B. B. Tarpon (76 winning flags) 120 knt. , 60 ft. ; Long-Davidson double under-rake rudder, new this season and unstrained. 850 nom. Maginnis motor, Radium relays and Pond generator. Bronze breakwater forward, and treble reinforced forefoot and entry. Talfourd rockered keel: Triple set of Hofman vans, giving maximum lifting surface of 5327 sq. Ft. Tarpon-has been lifted and held seven feet for two miles between touch and touch. Our Autumn List of racing and family Bats ready on the 9th January. ------------------------------------------------ AIR PLANES AND STARTERS ------------------------------------------------ HINKS MODERATOR Monorail overhead starter for family and private planes up to twenty-five foot over all Absolutely Safe Hinks & Co. . Birmingham ------------------------------------------------ J. D. ARDAGH I AM NOT CONCERNED WITH YOUR PLANE I AFTER IT LEAVES MY GUIDES, BUT TILL THEN I HOLD MYSELF PERSONALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR LIFE, SAFETY, AND COMFORT. MY HYDRAULIC BUFFER-STOP CANNOT RELEASE TILL THE MOTORS ARE WORKING UP TO BEARING SPEED, THUS SECURING A SAFE AND GRACEFUL FLIGHT WITHOUT PITCHING. Remember our motto, "Upward and Outward, " and do not trust yourself to so-called "rigid" guide-bars J. D. ARDAGH, BELFAST AND TURIN ------------------------------------------------ ACCESSORIES AND SPARES ------------------------------------------------ CHRISTIAN WRIGHT & OLDIS ESTABLISHED 1924 ACCESSORIES and SPARES Hooded Binnacles with dip-dials automatically recording change of level (illuminated face). All heights from 50 to 15, 000 feet L2 10 0 With Aerial Board of Control certificate L3 11 0 Foot and Hand Foghoms; Sirens toned to any club note; with air-chest belt-driven horn motor L6 8 0 Wireless installations syntonised to A. B. C. Requirements, in neat mahogany case, hundred mile range L3 3 0 Grapnels, mushroom--anchors, pithing-irons, winches, hawsers, snaps, shackles and mooring ropes, for lawn, city, and public installations. Detachable under-cars, aluminum or stamped steel. Keeled under-cars for planes: single-action detaching-gear, turning car into boat with one motion of the wrist. Invaluable for sea trips. Head, side, and riding lights (by size) Nos. 00 to 20 A. B. C. Standard. Rockets and fog-bombs in colours and tones of the principal clubs (boxed). A selection of twenty L2 17 6 International night-signals (boxed) L1 11 6 Spare generators guaranteed to lifting power marked on cover (prices according to power). Wind-noses for dirigibles--Pegamoid, cane-stiffened, lacquered cane or aluminum and flux for winter work. Smoke-ring cannon for hail storms, swivel mounted, bow or stern. Propeller blades: metal, tungsten backed; paper-mache wire stiffened; ribbed Xylonite (Nickson's patent); all razor-edged (price by pitch and diameter). Compressed steel bow-screws for winter work. Fused Ruby or Commercial Mineral Co. Bearings and collars. Agate-mounted thrust-blocks up to 4 inch. Magniac's bow-rudders--(Lavales patent grooving). Wove steel beltings for outboard motors (nonmagnetic). Radium batteries, all powers to 150 h. P. (in pairs). Helium batteries, all powers to 300 h. P. (tandem). Stun'sle brakes worked from upper or lower platform. Direct plunge-brakes worked from lower platform only, loaded silk or fibre, wind-tight. CATALOGUES FREE THROUGHOUT THE PLANET ------------------------------------------------ THE FOUR ANGELS As ADAM lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree, The Angel of the Earth came down, and offered Earth in fee. But Adam did not need it, Nor the plough he would not speed it, Singing:--"Earth and Water, Air and Fire, What more can mortal man desire?" (The Apple Tree's in bud. ) As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree, The Angel of the Waters offered all the Seas in fee. But Adam would not take 'em, Nor the ships he wouldn't make 'em, Singing:--"Water, Earth and Air and Fire, What more can mortal man desire?" (The Apple Tree's in leaf. ) As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree, The Angel of the Air he offered all the Air in fee. But Adam did not crave it, Nor the flight he wouldn't brave it, Singing:--"Air and Water, Earth and Fire, What more can mortal man desire?" (The Apple Tree's in bloom. ) As Adam lay a-dreaming beneath the Apple Tree, The Angel of the Fire rose up and not a word said he. But he wished a fire and made it, And in Adam's heart he laid it, Singing. --"Fire, fire, burning Fire, Stand up and reach your heart's desire!" (The Apple Blossom's set. ) As Adam was a-working outside of Eden-Wall, He used the Earth, he used the Seas, he used the Air and all; And out of black disaster He arose to be the master Of Earth and Water, Air and Fire, But never reached his heart's desire! (The Apple Tree's cut down!) A DEAL IN COTTON Long and long ago, when Devadatta was King of Benares, I wrote sometales concerning Strickland of the Punjab Police (who married MissYoughal), and Adam, his son. Strickland has finished his Indian Service, and lives now at a place in England called Weston-super-Mare, where hiswife plays the organ in one of the churches. Semi-occasionally he comesup to London, and occasionally his wife makes him visit his friends. Otherwise he plays golf and follows the harriers for his figure's sake. If you remember that Infant who told a tale to Eustace Cleever thenovelist, you will remember that he became a baronet with a vast estate. He has, owing to cookery, a little lost his figure, but he never loseshis friends. I have found a wing of his house turned into a hospitalfor sick men, and there I once spent a week in the company of two dismalnurses and a specialist in "Sprue. " Another time the place was full ofschoolboys--sons of Anglo-Indians whom the Infant had collected for theholidays, and they nearly broke his keeper's heart. But my last visit was better. The Infant called me up by wire, and Ifell into the arms of a friend of mine, Colonel A. L. Corkran, so thatthe years departed from us, and we praised Allah, who had not yetterminated the Delights, nor separated the Companions. Said Corkran, when he had explained how it felt to command anative Infantry regiment on the border: "The Stricks are coming forto-night-with their boy. " "I remember him. The little fellow I wrote a story about, " I said. "Ishe in the Service?" "No. Strick got him into the Centro-Euro-Africa Protectorate. He'sAssistant-Commissioner at Dupe--wherever that is. Somaliland, ain't it, Stalky?" asked the Infant. Stalky puffed out his nostrils scornfully. "You're only three thousandmiles out. Look at the atlas. " "Anyhow, he's as rotten full of fever as the rest of you, " said theInfant, at length on the big divan. "And he's bringing a native servantwith him. Stalky be an athlete, and tell Ipps to put him in the stableroom. " "Why? Is he a Yao--like the fellow Wade brought here--when yourhousekeeper had fits?" Stalky often visits the Infant, and has seen someodd things. "No. He's one of old Strickland's Punjabi policemen--and quiteEuropean--I believe. " "Hooray! Haven't talked Punjabi for three months--and a Punjabi fromCentral Africa ought to be amusin'. " We heard the chuff of the motor in the porch, and the first to enter wasAgnes Strickland, whom the Infant makes no secret of adoring. He is devoted, in a fat man's placid way, to at least eight designingwomen; but she nursed him once through a bad bout of Peshawur fever, andwhen she is in the house, it is more than all hers. "You didn't send rugs enough, " she began. "Adam might have taken achill. " "It's quite warm in the tonneau. Why did you let him ride in front?" "Because he wanted to, " she replied, with the mother's smile, and wewere introduced to the shadow of a young man leaning heavily on theshoulder of a bearded Punjabi Mohammedan. "That is all that came home of him, " said his father to me. "Therewas nothing in it of the child with whom I had journeyed to Dalhousiecenturies since. " "And what is this uniform?" Stalky asked of Imam Din, the servant, whocame to attention on the marble floor. "The uniform of the Protectorate troops, Sahib. Though I am the LittleSahib's body-servant, it is not seemly for us white men to be attendedby folk dressed altogether as servants. " "And--and you white men wait at table on horseback?" Stalky pointed tothe man's spurs. "These I added for the sake of honour when I came to England, " said ImamDin Adam smiled the ghost of a little smile that I began to remember, and we put him on the big couch for refreshments. Stalky asked him howmuch leave he had, and he said "Six months. " "But he'll take another six on medical certificate, " said Agnesanxiously. Adam knit his brows. "You don't want to--eh? I know. Wonder what my second in command isdoing. " Stalky tugged his moustache, and fell to thinking of his Sikhs. "Ah!" said the Infant. "I've only a few thousand pheasants to lookafter. Come along and dress for dinner. We're just ourselves. Whatflower is your honour's ladyship commanding for the table?" "Just ourselves?" she said, looking at the crotons in the great hall. "Then let's have marigolds the little cemetery ones. " So it was ordered. Now, marigolds to us mean hot weather, discomfort, parting, and death. That smell in our nostrils, and Adam's servant in waiting, we naturallyfell back more and more on the old slang, recalling at each glass thosewho had gone before. We did not sit at the big table, but in the baywindow overlooking the park, where they were carting the last of thehay. When twilight fell we would not have candles, but waited for themoon, and continued our talk in the dusk that makes one remember. Young Adam was not interested in our past except where it had touchedhis future. I think his mother held his hand beneath the table. ImamDin--shoeless, out of respect to the floors--brought him his medicine, poured it drop by drop, and asked for orders. "Wait to take him to his cot when he grows weary, " said his mother, andImam Din retired into the shadow by the ancestral portraits. "Now what d'you expect to get out of your country?" the Infant asked, when--our India laid aside we talked Adam's Africa. It roused him atonce. "Rubber--nuts--gums--and so on, " he said. "But our real future iscotton. I grew fifty acres of it last year in my District. " "My District!" said his father. "Hear him, Mummy!" "I did though! I wish I could show you the sample. Some Manchester chapssaid it was as good as any Sea Island cotton on the market. " "But what made you a cotton-planter, my son?" she asked. "My Chief said every man ought to have a shouk (a hobby) of sorts, andhe took the trouble to ride a day out of his way to show me a belt ofblack soil that was just the thing for cotton. " "Ah! What was your Chief like?" Stalky asked, in his silkiest tones. "The best man alive--absolutely. He lets you blow your own noseyourself. The people call him"--Adam jerked out some heathenphrase--"that means the Man with the Stone Eyes, you know. " "I'm glad of that. Because I've heard from other quarters" Stalky'ssentence burned like a slow match, but the explosion was not longdelayed. "Other quarters!" Adam threw out a thin hand. "Every dog hashis fleas. If you listen to them, of course!" The shake of his head wasas I remembered it among his father's policemen twenty years before, andhis mother's eyes shining through the dusk called on me to adore it. Ikicked Stalky on the shin. One must not mock a young man's first love orloyalty. A lump of raw cotton appeared on the table. "I thought there might be a need. Therefore I packed it between ourshirts, " said the voice of Imam Din. "Does he know as much English as that?" cried the Infant, who hadforgotten his East. We all admired the cotton for Adam's sake, and, indeed, it was very longand glossy. "It's--it's only an experiment, " he said. "We're such awful paupers wecan't even pay for a mailcart in my District. We use a biscuit-boxon two bicycle wheels. I only got the money for that"--he patted thestuff--"by a pure fluke. " "How much did it cost?" asked Strickland. "With seed and machinery--about two hundred pounds. I had the labourdone by cannibals. " "That sounds promising. " Stalky reached for a fresh cigarette. "No, thank you, " said Agnes. "I've been at Weston-super-Mare a littletoo long for cannibals. I'll go to the music-room and try over nextSunday's hymns. " She lifted the boy's hand lightly to her lips, and tripped across theacres of glimmering floor to the music-room that had been the Infant'sancestors' banqueting hall. Her grey and silver dress disappeared underthe musicians' gallery; two electrics broke out, and she stood backedagainst the lines of gilded pipes. "There's an abominable self-playing attachment here!" she called. "Me!" the Infant answered, his napkin on his shoulder. "That's how Iplay Parsifal. " "I prefer the direct expression. Take it away, Ipps. " We heard old Ipps skating obediently all over the floor. "Now for the direct expression, " said Stalky, and moved on the Burgundyrecommended by the faculty to enrich fever-thinned blood. "It's nothing much. Only the belt of cotton-soil my chief showed meran right into the Sheshaheli country. We haven't been able to provecannibalism against that tribe in the courts; but when a Sheshahelioffers you four pounds of woman's breast, tattoo marks and all, skeweredup in a plantain leaf before breakfast, you--" "Naturally burn the villages before lunch, " said Stalky. Adam shook his head. "No troops, " he sighed. "I told my Chief about it, and he said we must wait till they chopped a white man. He advised me ifever I felt like it not to commit a--a barren felo de se, but to let theSheshaheli do it. Then he could report, and then we could mop 'em up!" "Most immoral! That's how we got--" Stalky quoted the name of a provincewon by just such a sacrifice. "Yes, but the beasts dominated one end of my cotton-belt like anything. They chivied me out of it when I went to take soil for analysis--me andImam Din. " "Sahib! Is there a need?" The voice came out of the darkness, and theeyes shone over Adam's shoulder ere it ceased. "None. The name was taken in talk. " Adam abolished him with a turn ofthe finger. "I couldn't make a casus belli of it just then, because myChief had taken all the troops to hammer a gang of slave kings up north. Did you ever hear of our war against Ibn Makarrah? He precious nearlylost us the Protectorate at one time, though he's an ally of ours now. " "Wasn't he rather a pernicious brute, even as they go?" said Stalky. "Wade told me about him last year. " "Well, his nickname all through the country was 'The Merciful, ' and hedidn't get that for nothing. None of our people ever breathed hisproper name. They said 'He' or 'That One, ' and they didn't say it aloud, either. He fought us for eight months. " "I remember. There was a paragraph about it in one of the papers, " Isaid. "We broke him, though. No--the slavers don't come our way, because ourmen have the reputation of dying too much, the first month after they'recaptured. That knocks down profits, you see. " "What about your charming friends, the Sheshahelis?" said the Infant. "There's no market for Sheshaheli. People would as soon buy crocodiles. I believe, before we annexed the country, Ibn Makarrah dropped down on'em once--to train his young men--and simply hewed 'em in pieces. The bulk of my people are agriculturists just the right stamp forcotton-growers. What's Mother playing?--'Once in royal'?" The organ that had been crooning as happily as a woman over her baberestored, steadied to a tune. "Magnificent! Oh, magnificent!" said the Infant loyally. I had neverheard him sing but once, and then, though it was early in the tolerantmorning, his mess had rolled him into a lotus pond. "How did you get your cannibals to work for you?" asked Strickland. "They got converted to civilization after my Chief smashed IbnMakarrah--just at the time I wanted 'em. You see my Chief had promisedme in writing that if I could scrape up a surplus he would not bag itfor his roads this time, but I might have it for my cotton game. I onlyneeded two hundred pounds. Our revenues didn't run to it. " "What is your revenue?" Stalky asked in the vernacular. "With hut-tax, traders' game and mining licenses, not more than fourteenthousand rupees; every penny of it ear-marked months ahead. " Adamsighed. "Also there is a fine for dogs straying in the Sahib's camp. Last yearit exceeded three rupees, " Imam Din said quietly. "Well, I thought that was fair. They howled so. We were rather strict onfines. I worked up my native clerk--Bulaki Ram--to a ferocious pitchof enthusiasm. He used to calculate the profits of our cotton-schemeto three points of decimals, after office. I tell you I envied yourmagistrates here hauling money out of motorists every week I had managedto make our ordinary revenue and expenditure just about meet, and Iwas crazy to get the odd two hundred pounds for my cotton. That sort ofthing grows on a chap when he's alone--and talks aloud!" "Hul-lo! Have you been there already?" the father said, and Adam nodded. "Yes. Used to spout what I could remember of 'Marmion' to a tree, sir. Well then my luck turned. One evening an English-speaking nigger came intowing a corpse by the feet. (You get used to little things like that. )He said he'd found it, and please would I identify, because if itwas one of Ibn Makarrah's men there might be a reward. It was an oldMohammedan, with a strong dash of Arab--a smallboned, bald-headed chap, and I was just wondering how it had kept so well in our climate when itsneezed. You ought to have seen the nigger! He fetched a howl and boltedlike--like the dog in 'Tom Sawyer, ' when he sat on the what's-its-namebeetle. He yelped as he ran, and the corpse went on sneezing. I couldsee it had been sarkied. (That's a sort of gum-poison, pater, whichattacks the nerve centres. Our chief medical officer is writing amonograph about it. ) So Imam Din and I emptied out the corpse one time, with my shaving soap and trade gunpowder, and hot water. "I'd seen a case of sarkie before; so when the skin peeled off his feet, and he stopped sneezing, I knew he'd live. He was bad, though; lay likea log for a week while Imam Din and I massaged the paralysis out of him. Then he told us he was a Hajji--had been three times to Mecca--come infrom French Africa, and that he'd met the nigger by the wayside--justlike a case of thuggee, in India--and the nigger had poisoned him. Thatseemed reasonable enough by what I knew of Coast niggers. " "You believed him?" said his father keenly. "There was no reason I shouldn't. The nigger never came back, and theold man stayed with me for two months, " Adam returned. "You know whatthe best type of a Mohammedan gentleman can be, pater? He was that. " "None finer, none finer, " was the answer. "Except a Sikh, " Stalky grunted. "He'd been to Bombay; he knew French Africa inside out; he could quotepoetry and the Koran all day long. He played chess--you don't know whatthat meant to me--like a master. We used to talk about the regenerationof Turkey and the Sheik-ul-Islam between moves. Oh, everything under thesun we talked about! He was awfully open-minded. He believed in slavery, of course, but he quite saw that it would have to die out. That's whyhe agreed with me about developing the resources of the district bycotton-growing, you know. " "You talked of that too?" said Strickland. "Rather. We discussed it for hours. You don't know what it meant to me. A wonderful man. Imam Din, was not our Hajji marvellous?" "Most marvellous! It was all through the Hajji that we found the moneyfor our cotton-play. " Imam Din had moved, I fancy, behind Strickland'schair. "Yes. It must have been dead against his convictions too. He brought menews when I was down with fever at Dupe that one of Ibn Makarrah's menwas parading through my District with a bunch of slaves--in the Fork!" "What's the matter with the Fork, that you can't abide it?" said Stalky. Adam's voice had risen at the last word. "Local etiquette, sir, " he replied, too earnest to notice Stalky'satrocious pun. "If a slaver runs slaves through British territory heought to pretend that they're his servants. Hawkin' 'em about in theFork--the forked stick that you put round their necks, you know--isinsolence--same as not backing your topsails in the old days. Besides, it unsettles the District. " "I thought you said slavers didn't come your way, " I put in. "They don't. But my Chief was smoking 'em out of the North all thatseason, and they were bolting into French territory any road they couldfind. My orders were to take no notice so long as they circulated, butopen slave-dealing in the Fork, was too much. I couldn't go myself, so Itold a couple of our Makalali police and Imam Din to make talk withthe gentleman one time. It was rather risky, and it might have beenexpensive, but it turned up trumps. They were back in a few days withthe slaver (he didn't show fight) and a whole crowd of witnesses, andwe tried him in my bedroom, and fined him properly. Just to show youhow demoralized the brute must have been (Arabs often go dotty after adefeat), he'd snapped up four or five utterly useless Sheshaheli, andwas offering 'em to all and sundry along the road. Why, he offered 'emto you, didn't he, Imam Din?" "I was witness that he offered man-eaters' for sale, " said Imam Din. "Luckily for my cotton-scheme, that landed, him both ways. You see, hehad slaved and exposed slaves for sale in British territory. That meantthe double fine if I could get it out of him. " "What was his defence?" said Strickland, late of the Punjab Police. "As far as I remember--but I had a temperature of 104 degrees at thetime--he'd mistaken the meridians of longitude. Thought he was in Frenchterritory. Said he'd never do it again, if we'd let him off with a fine. I could have shaken hands with the brute for that. He paid up cash likea motorist and went off one time. " "Did you see him?" "Ye-es. Didn't I, Imam Din?" "Assuredly the Sahib both saw and spoke to the slaver. And the Sahibalso made a speech to the man-eaters when he freed them, and they sworeto supply him with labour for all his cotton-play. The Sahib leaned onhis own servant's shoulder the while. " "I remember something of that. I remember Bulaki Ram giving me thepapers to sign, and I distinctly remember him locking up the money inthe safe--two hundred and ten beautiful English sovereigns. You don'tknow what that meant to me! I believe it cured my fever; and as soonas I could, I staggered off with the Hajji to interview the Sheshaheliabout labour. Then I found out why they had been so keen to work! Itwasn't gratitude. Their big village had been hit by lightning and burnedout a week or two before, and they lay flat in rows around me asking mefor a job. I gave it 'em. " "And so you were very happy?" His mother had stolen up behind us. "Youliked your cotton, dear?" She tidied the lump away. "By Jove, I was happy!" Adam yawned. "Now if any one, " he looked atthe Infant, "cares to put a little money into the scheme, it'll be themaking of my District. I can't give you figures, sir, but I assure--" "You'll take your arsenic, and Imam Din'll take you up to bed, and I'llcome and tuck you in. " Agnes leaned forward, her rounded elbows on his shoulders, hands joinedacross his dark hair, and "Isn't he a darling?" she said to us, withjust the same heart-rending lift to the left eyebrow and the same breakof her voice as sent Strickland mad among the horses in the year '84. Wewere quiet when they were gone. We waited till Imam Din returned to usfrom above and coughed at the door, as only dark-hearted Asia can. "Now, " said Strickland, "tell us what truly befell, son of my servant. " "All befell as our Sahib has said. Only--only there was anarrangement--a little arrangement on account of his cotton-play. " "Tell! Sit! I beg your pardon, Infant, " said Strickland. But the Infant had already made the sign, and we heard Imam Din hunkerdown on the floor: One gets little out of the East at attention. "When the fever came on our Sahib in our roofed house at Dupe, " hebegan, "the Hajji listened intently to his talk. He expected the namesof women; though I had already told him that Our virtue was beyondbelief or compare, and that Our sole desire was this cotton-play. Beingat last convinced, the Hajji breathed on our Sahib's forehead, to sinkinto his brain news concerning a slave-dealer in his district who hadmade a mock of the law. Sahib, " Imam Din turned to Strickland, "ourSahib answered to those false words as a horse of blood answers tothe spur. He sat up. He issued orders for the apprehension of theslavedealer. Then he fell back. Then we left him. " "Alone--servant of my son, and son of my servant?" said his father. "There was an old woman which belonged to the Hajji. She had come inwith the Hajji's money-belt. The Hajji told her that if our Sahib died, she would die with him. And truly our Sahib had given me orders todepart. " "Being mad with fever--eh?" "What could we do, Sahib? This cotton-play was his heart's desire. Hetalked of it in his fever. Therefore it was his heart's desire thatthe Hajji went to fetch. Doubtless the Hajji could have given him moneyenough out of hand for ten cottonplays; but in this respect also ourSahib's virtue was beyond belief or compare. Great Ones do not exchangemoneys. Therefore the Hajji said--and I helped with my counsel--that wemust make arrangements to get the money in all respects conformable withthe English Law. It was great trouble to us, but--the Law is the Law. And the Hajji showed the old woman the knife by which she would die ifour Sahib died. So I accompanied the Hajji. " "Knowing who he was?" said Strickland. "No! Fearing the man. A virtue went out from him overbearing the virtueof lesser persons. The Hajji told Bulaki Ram the clerk to occupy theseat of government at Dupe till our return. Bulaki Ram feared the Hajji, because the Hajji had often gloatingly appraised his skill in figuresat five thousand rupees upon any slave-block. The Hajji then said tome: 'Come, and we will make the man-eaters play the cotton-game for mydelight's delight' The Hajji loved our Sahib with the love of a fatherfor his son, of a saved for his saviour, of a Great One for a Great One. But I said: 'We cannot go to that Sheshaheli place without a hundredrifles. We have here five. ' The Hajji said: 'I have untied as knot in myhead-handkerchief which will be more to us than a thousand. ' I saw thathe had so loosed it that it lay flagwise on his shoulder. Then I knewthat he was a Great One with virtue in him. "We came to the highlands of the Sheshaheli on the dawn of the secondday--about the time of the stirring of the cold wind. The Hajji walkeddelicately across the open place where their filth is, and scratchedupon the gate which was shut. When it opened I saw the man-eaters lyingon their cots under the eaves of the huts. They rolled off: they roseup, one behind the other the length of the street, and the fear on theirfaces was as leaves whitening to a breeze. The Hajji stood in the gateguarding his skirts from defilement. The Hajji said: 'I am here onceagain. Give me six and yoke up. ' They zealously then pushed to us withpoles six, and yoked them with a heavy tree. The Hajji then said: 'Fetchfire from the morning hearth, and come to windward. ' The wind is strongon those headlands at sunrise, so when each had emptied his crock offire in front of that which was before him, the broadside of the townroared into flame, and all went. The Hajji then said: 'At the end ofa time there will come here the white man ye once chased for sport. Hewill demand labour to plant such and such stuff. Ye are that labour, andyour spawn after you. ' They said, lifting their heads a very little fromthe edge of the ashes: 'We are that labour, and our spawn after us. 'The Hajji said: 'What is also my name?' They said: 'Thy name is alsoThe Merciful' The Hajji said: 'Praise then my mercy'; and while they didthis, the Hajji walked away, I following. " The Infant made some noise in his throat, and reached for more Burgundy. "About noon one of our six fell dead. Fright only frights Sahib! Nonehad--none could--touch him. Since they were in pairs, and the other ofthe Fork was mad and sang foolishly, we waited for some heathen to dowhat was needful. There came at last Angari men with goats. The Hajjisaid: 'What do ye see? They said: 'Oh, our Lord, we neither see norhear. ' The Hajji said: 'But I command ye to see and to hear and to say. 'They said: 'Oh, our Lord, it is to our commanded eyes as though slavesstood in a Fork. ' The Hajji said: 'So testify before the officer whowaits you in the town of Dupe. ' They said: 'What shall come to usafter?' The Hajji said: 'The just reward for the informer. But if ye donot testify, then a punishment which shall cause birds, to fall fromthe trees in terror and monkeys to scream for pity. ' Hearing this, the Angari men hastened to Dupe. The Hajji then said to me: 'Are thosethings sufficient to establish our case, or must I drive in a villagefull?' I said that three witnesses amply established any case, but asyet, I said, the Hajji had not offered his slaves for sale. It is true, as our Sahib said just now, there is one fine for catching slaves, andyet another for making to sell them. And it was the double fine thatwe needed, Sahib, for our Sahib's cotton-play. We had fore-arrangedall this with Bulaki Ram, who knows the English Law, and, I thought theHajji remembered, but he grew angry, and cried out: 'O God, Refuge ofthe Afflicted, must I, who am what I am, peddle this dog's meat by theroadside to gain his delight for my heart's delight?' None the less, headmitted it was the English Law, and so he offered me the six--five--ina small voice, with an averted head. The Sheshaheli do not smell of sourmilk as heathen should. They smell like leopards, Sahib. This is becausethey eat men. " "Maybe, " said Strickland. "But where were thy wits? One witness is notsufficient to establish the fact of a sale. " "What could we do, Sahib? There was the Hajji's reputation to consider. We could not have called in a heathen witness for such a thing. And, moreover, the Sahib forgets that the defendant himself was making thiscase. He would not contest his own evidence. Otherwise, I know the lawof evidence well enough. "So then we went to Dupe, and while Bulaki Ram waited among the Angarimen, 'I ran to see our Sahib in bed. His eyes were very bright, and hismouth was full of upside-down orders, but the old woman had not loosenedher hair for death. The Hajji said: 'Be quick with my trial. I am notJob!' The Hajji was a learned man. We made the trial swiftly to a soundof soothing voices round the bed. Yet--yet, because no man can be surewhether a Sahib of that blood sees, or does not see, we made it strictlyin the manner of the forms of the English Law. Only the witnesses andthe slaves and the prisoner we kept without for his nose's sake. " "Then he did not see the prisoner?" said Strickland. "I stood by to shackle up an Angari in case he should demand it, but byGod's favour he was too far fevered to ask for one. It is quite truehe signed the papers. It is quite true he saw the money put away in thesafe--two hundred and ten English pounds and it is quite true that thegold wrought on him as a strong cure. But as to his seeing the prisoner, and having speech with the man-eaters--the Hajji breathed all that onhis forehead to sink into his sick brain. A little, as ye have heard, has remained. .. . Ah, but when the fever broke, and our Sahib calledfor the fine-book, and the thin little picture-books from Europe withthe pictures of ploughs and hoes, and cotton=3Dmills--ah, then helaughed as he used to laugh, Sahib. It was his heart's desire, thiscotton-play. The Hajji loved him, as who does not? It was a little, little arrangement, Sahib, of which--is it necessary to tell all theworld?" "And when didst thou know who the Hajji was?" said Strickland. "Not for a certainty till he and our Sahib had returned from theirvisit to the Sheshaheli country. It is quite true as our Sahib says, theman-eaters lay, flat around his feet, and asked for spades to cultivatecotton. That very night, when I was cooking the dinner, the Hajji saidto me: 'I go to my own place, though God knows whether the Man with theStone Eyes have left me an ox, a slave, or a woman. ' I said: 'Thou artthen That One?' The Hajji said: 'I am ten thousand rupees reward intothy hand. Shall we make another law-case and get more cotton machinesfor the boy?' I said: 'What dog am I to do this? May God prolong thylife a thousand years!' The Hajji said: 'Who has seen to-morrow? God hasgiven me as it were a son in my old age, and I praise Him. See that thebreed is not lost!' "He walked then from the cooking-place to our Sahib's office-table underthe tree, where our Sahib held in his hand a blue envelope of Servicenewly come in by runner from the North. At this, fearing evil news forthe Hajji, I would have restrained him, but he said: 'We be both GreatOnes. Neither of us will fail. ' Our Sahib looked up to invite the Hajjito approach before he opened the letter, but the Hajji stood off tillour Sahib had well opened and well read the letter. Then the Hajji said:'Is it permitted to say farewell?' Our Sahib stabbed the letter on thefile with a deep and joyful breath and cried a welcome. The Hajji said:'I go to my own place, ' and he loosed from his neck a chained heartof ambergris set in soft gold and held it forth. Our Sahib snatchedit swiftly in the closed fist, down turned, and said 'If thy name bewritten hereon, it is needless, for a name is already engraved on myheart. ' The Hajji said: 'And on mine also is a name engraved; but thereis no name on the amulet. ' The Hajji stooped to our Sahib's feet, butour Sahib raised and embraced him, and the Hajji covered his mouth withhis shoulder-cloth, because it worked, and so he went away. " "And what order was in the Service letter?" Stalky murmured. "Only an order for our Sahib to write a report on some new cattlesickness. But all orders come in the same make of envelope. We could nottell what order it might have been. " "When he opened the letter--my son--made he no sign? A cough? An oath?"Strickland asked. "None, Sahib. I watched his hands. They did not shake. Afterward hewiped his face, but he was sweating before from the heat. " "Did he know? Did he know who the Hajji was?" said the Infant inEnglish. "I am a poor man. Who can say what a Sahib of that get knows or does notknow? But the Hajji is right. The breed should not be lost. It is notvery hot for little children in Dupe, and as regards nurses, my sister'scousin at Jull--" "H'm! That is the boy's own concern. I wonder if his Chief ever knew?"said Strickland. "Assuredly, " said Imam Din. "On the night before our Sahib went down tothe sea, the Great Sahib--the Man with the Stone Eyes--dined with him inhis camp, I being in charge of the table. They talked a long while andthe Great Sahib said: 'What didst thou think of That One?' (We do notsay Ibn Makarrah yonder. ) Our Sahib said: 'Which one?' The Great Sahibsaid: 'That One which taught thy man-eaters to grow cotton for thee. Hewas in thy District three months to my certain knowledge, and I lookedby every runner that thou wouldst send me in his head. ' Our Sahib said:'If his head had been needed, another man should have been appointed togovern my District, for he was my friend. ' The Great Sahib laughed andsaid: 'If I had needed a lesser man in thy place be sure I would havesent him, as, if I had needed the head of That One, be sure I would havesent men to bring it to me. But tell me now, by what means didst thoutwist him to thy use and our profit in this cotton-play?' Our Sahibsaid: 'By God, I did not use that man in any fashion whatever. He wasmy friend. ' The Great Sahib said: 'Toh Vac! (Bosh!) Tell!' Our Sahibshook his head as he does--as he did when a child--and they looked ateach other like sword-play men in the ring at a fair. The Great Sahibdropped his eyes first and he said: 'So be it. I should perhaps haveanswered thus in my youth. No matter. I have made treaty with That Oneas an ally of the State. Some day he shall tell me the tale. ' Then Ibrought in fresh coffee, and they ceased. But I do not think That Onewill tell the Great Sahib more than our Sahib told him. " "Wherefore?" I asked. "Because they are both Great Ones, and I have observed in my lifethat Great Ones employ words very little between each other in theirdealings; still less when they speak to a third concerning thosedealings. Also they profit by silence. .. . Now I think that themother has come down from the room, and I will go rub his feet till hesleeps. " His ears had caught Agnes's step at the stair-head and presently shepassed us on her way to the music room humming the Magnificat. THE NEW KNIGHTHOOD Who gives him the Bath? "I, " said the wet, Rank Jungle-sweat, "I'll give him the Bath!" Who'll sing the psalms? "We, " said the Palms. "Ere the hot wind becalms, We'll sing the psalms. " Who lays on the sword? "I, " said the Sun, "Before he has done, I'll lay on the sword. " Who fastens his belt? "I, " said Short-Rations, "I know all the fashions Of tightening a belt!" Who buckles his spur? "I, " said his Chief, Exacting and brief, "I'll give him the spur. " Who'll shake his hand? "I, " said the Fever, "And I'm no deceiver, I'll shake his hand. " Who brings him the wine? "I, " said Quinine, "It's a habit of mine, I'll come with his wine. " Who'll put him to proof? "I, " said All Earth, "Whatever he's worth, I'll put to the proof. " Who'll choose him for Knight? "I, " said his Mother, "Before any other, My very own knight!" And after this fashion, adventure to seek, Was Sir Galahad made--as it might be last week! THE PUZZLER I had not seen Penfentenyou since the Middle Nineties, when he wasMinister of Ways and Woodsides in De Thouar's first Administration. Lastsummer, though he nominally held the same portfolio, he was his Colony'sPremier in all but name, and the idol of his own province, which is twoand a half times the size of England. Politically, his creed was hisgrowing country; and he came over to England to develop a Great Idea inher behalf. Believing that he had put it in train, I made haste to welcome him to myhouse for a week. That he was chased to my door by his own Agent-General in a motor; thatthey turned my study into a Cabinet Meeting which I was not invited toattend; that the local telegraph all but broke down beneath the strainof hundred word coded cables; and that I practically broke into thehouse of a stranger to get him telephonic facilities on a Sunday, arethings I overlook. What I objected to was his ingratitude, while I thustore up England to help him. So I said: "Why on earth didn't you seeyour Opposite Number in Town instead of bringing your office work here?" "Eh? Who?" said he, looking up from his fourth cable since lunch. "See the English Minister for Ways and Woodsides. " "I saw him, " said Penfentenyou, without enthusiasm. It seemed that he had called twice on the gentleman, but without anappointment--("I thought if I wasn't big enough, my business was")--andeach time had found him engaged. A third party intervening, suggestedthat a meeting might be arranged if due notice were given. "Then, " said Penfentenyou, "I called at the office at ten o'clock. " "But they'd be in bed, " I cried. "One of the babies was awake. He told me that--that 'my sort ofquestions "'--he slapped the pile of cables--"were only taken between 11and 2 P. M. So I waited. " "And when you got to business?" I asked. He made a gesture of despair. "It was like talking to children. They'dnever heard of it. " "And your Opposite Number?" Penfentenyou described him. "Hush! You mustn't talk like that!" I shuddered. "He's one of the bestof good fellows. You should meet him socially. " "I've done that too, " he said. "Have you?" "Heaven forbid!" I cried; "but that's the proper thing to say. " "Oh, he said all the proper things. Only I thought as this was Englandthat they'd more or less have the hang of all the--general hang-togetherof my Idea. But I had to explain it from the beginning. " "Ah! They'd probably mislaid the papers, " I said, and I told himthe story of a three-million pound insurrection caused by a deputyUnder-Secretary sitting upon a mass of green-labelled correspondenceinstead of reading it. "I wonder it doesn't happen every week, " the answered. "D'you mind myhaving the Agent-General to dinner again tonight? I'll wire, and he canmotor down. " The Agent-General arrived two hours later, a patient and expostulatingperson, visibly torn between the pulling Devil of a rampant Colony, and the placid Baker of a largely uninterested England. But withPenfentenyou behind him he had worked; for he told us that LordLundie--the Law Lord was the final authority on the legal andconstitutional aspects of the Great Idea, and to him it must bereferred. "Good Heavens alive!" thundered Penfentenyou. "I told you to get thatsettled last Christmas. " "It was the middle of the house-party season, " said the Agent-Generalmildly. "Lord Lundie's at Credence Green now--he spends his holidaysthere. It's only forty miles off. " "Shan't I disturb his Holiness?" said Penfentenyou heavily. "Perhaps'my sort of questions, "' he snorted, "mayn't be discussed except atmidnight. " "Oh, don't be a child, " I said. "What this country needs, " said Penfentenyou, "is--" and for ten minuteshe trumpeted rebellion. "What you need is to pay for your own protection, " I cut in when hedrew breath, and I showed him a yellowish paper, supplied gratis byGovernment, which is called Schedule D. To my merciless delight he hadnever seen the thing before, and I completed my victory over him andall the Colonies with a Brassey's "Naval Annual" and a "Statesman's YearBook. " The Agent-General interposed with agent-generalities (but they weremerely provocateurs) about Ties of Sentiment. "They be blowed!" said Penfentenyou. "What's the good of sentimenttowards a Kindergarten?" "Quite so. Ties of common funk are the things that bind us together; andthe sooner you new nations realize it the better. What you need is anannual invasion. Then you'd grow up. " "Thank you! Thank you!" said the Agent-General. "That's what I am alwaystrying to tell my people. " "But, my dear fool, " Penfentenyou almost wept, "do you pretend thatthese banana-fingered amateurs at home are grown up?" "You poor, serious, pagan man, " I retorted, "if you take 'em that way, you'll wreck your Great Idea. " "Will you take him to Lord Lundie's to-morrow?" said the Agent-Generalpromptly. "I suppose I must, " I said, "if you won't. " "Not me! I'm going home, " said the Agent-General, and departed. I amglad that I am no colony's Agent-General. Penfentenyou continued to argue about naval contributions till 1. 15A. M. , though I was victor from the first. At ten o'clock I got him and his correspondence into the motor, andhe had the decency to ask whether he had been unpolished over-night. I replied that I waited an apology. This he made excuse for renewedarguments, and used wayside shows as illustrations of the decadence ofEngland. For example we burst a tyre within a mile of Credence Green, and, tosave time, walked into the beautifully kept little village. His eye wascaught by a building of pale-blue tin, stencilled "Calvinist Chapel, "before whose shuttered windows an Italian organ-grinder with apetticoated monkey was playing "Dolly Grey-" "Yes. That's it!" snapped the egoist. "That's a parable of the generalsituation in England. And look at those brutes!" A huge householdremovals van was halted at a public-house. The men in charge weredrinking beer from blue and white mugs. It seemed to me a pretty sight, but Penfentenyou said it represented Our National Attitude. Lord Lundie's summer resting-place we learned was a farm, a little outof the village, up a hill round which curled a high hedged road. Onlyan initiated few spend their holidays at Credence Green, and they havetrained the householders to keep the place select. Penfentenyou made agrievance of this as we walked up the lane, followed at a distance bythe organ-grinder. "Suppose he is having a house-party, " he said: "Anything's possible inthis insane land. " Just at that minute we found ourselves opposite an empty villa. Its roofwas of black slate, with bright unweathered ridge-tiling; its walls wereof blood-coloured brick, cornered and banded with vermiculated stuccowork, and there was cobalt, magenta, and purest apple-green window-glasson either side of the front door. The whole was fenced from the road bya low, brick-pillared, flint wall, topped with a cast-iron Gothic rail, picked out in blue and gold. Tight beds of geranium, calceolaria, and lobelia speckled theglass-plat, from whose centre rose one of the finest araucarias (itsother name by the way is "monkey-puzzler"), that it has ever been mylot to see. It must have been full thirty feet high, and its foliageexquisitely answered the iron railings. Such bijou ne plus ultras, replete with all the amenities, do not, as I pointed out toPenfentenyou, transpire outside of England. A hedge, swinging sharp right, flanked the garden, and above it ona slope of daisy-dotted meadows we could see Lord Lundie's tiled andhalf-timbered summer farmhouse. Of a sudden we heard voices behind thetree--the fine full tones of the unembarrassed English, speaking totheir equals--that tore through the hedge like sleet through rafters. "That it is not called 'monkey-puzzler' for nothing, I willinglyconcede"--this was a rich and rolling note--"but on the other hand--" "I submit, me lud, that the name implies that it might, could, would, or should be ascended by a monkey, and not that the ascent is a physicalimpossibility. I believe one of our South American spider monkeyswouldn't hesitate. .. By Jove, it might be worth trying, if--" This was a crisper voice than the first. A third, higher-pitched, andfull of pleasant affectations, broke in. "Oh, practical men, there is no ape here. Why do you waste one of God'sown days on unprofitable discussion? Give me a match!" "I've a good mind to make you demonstrate in your own person. Come on, Bubbles! We'll make Jimmy climb!" There was a sound of scuffling, broken by squeaks from Jimmy of the highvoice. I turned back and drew Penfentenyou into the side of the flankinghedge. I remembered to have read in a society paper that Lord Lundie'slesser name was "Bubbles. " "What are they doing?" Penfentenyou said sharply. "Drunk?" "Just playing! Superabundant vitality of the Race, you know. We'll watch'em, " I answered. The noise ceased. "My deliver, " Jimmy gasped. "The ram caught in the thicket, and--I'm theonly one who can talk Neapolitan! Leggo my collar!" He cried aloud in aforeign tongue, and was answered from the gate. "It's the Calvinistic organ-grinder, " I whispered. I had already founda practicable break at the bottom of the hedge. "They're going to try tomake the monkey climb, I believe. " "Here--let me look!" Penfentenyou flung himself down, and rooted till hetoo broke a peep-hole. We lay side by side commanding the entire gardenat ten yards' range. "You know 'em?" said Penfentenyou, as I made some noise or other. "By sight only. The big fellow in flannels is Lord Lundie; thelight-built one with the yellow beard painted his picture at the lastAcademy: He's a swell R. A. , James Loman. " "And the brown chap with the hands?" "Tomling, Sir Christopher Tomling, the South American engineer who builtthe--" "San Juan Viaduct. I know, " said Penfentenyou. "We ought to have had himwith us. .. . Do you think a monkey would climb the tree?" The organ-grinder at the gate fenced his beast with one arm asJimmy-talked. "Don't show off your futile accomplishments, " said Lord Lundie. "Tellhim it's an experiment. Interest him!" "Shut up, Bubbles. You aren't in court, " Jimmy replied. "This needsdelicacy. Giuseppe says--" "Interest the monkey, " the brown engineer interrupted. "He won't climbfor love. Cut up to the house and get some biscuits, Bubbles--sugar onesand an orange or two. No need to tell our womenfolk. " The huge white figure lobbed off at a trot which would not havedisgraced a boy of seventeen. I gathered from something Jimmy let fallthat the three had been at Harrow together. "That Tomling has a head on his Shoulders, " muttered Penfentenyou. "Pitywe didn't get him for the Colony. But the question is, will the monkeyclimb?" "Be quick, Jimmy. Tell the man we'll give him five bob for the loan ofthe beast. Now run the organ under the tree, and we'll dress it whenBubbles comes back, " Sir Christopher cried. "I've often wondered, " said Penfentenyou, "whether it would puzzlea monkey?" He had forgotten the needs of his Growing Nation, and wasearnestly parting the white-thorn stems with his fingers. * * * * * * * * * * Giuseppe and Jimmy did as they were told, the monkey following them witha wary and malignant eye. "Here's a discovery, " said Jimmy. "The singing part of this organ comesoff the wheels. " He spoke volubly to the proprietor. "Oh, it's so asGiuseppe can take it to his room o' nights. And play it. D'you hearthat? The organ-grinder, after his day's crime, plays his accursedmachine for love. For love, Chris! And Michael Angelo was one of 'em!" "Don't jaw! Tell him to take the beast's petticoat off, " said SirChristopher Tomling. Lord Lundie returned, very little winded, through a gap higher up thehedge. "They're all out, thank goodness!" he cried, "but I've raided what Icould. Macrons glaces, candied fruit, and a bag of oranges. " "Excellent!" said the world-renowned contractor. "Jimmy, you're the light-weight; jump up on the organ and impale thesethings on the leaves as I hand 'em!" "I see, " said Jimmy, capering like a springbuck. "Upward and onward, eh?First, he'll reach out for--how infernal prickly these leaves are!--thisbiscuit. Next we'll lure him on--(that's about the reach of hisarm)--with the marron glare, and then he'll open out this orange. Howhuman! How like your ignoble career, Bubbles!" With care and elaboration they ornamented that tree's lower brancheswith sugar-topped biscuits, oranges, bits of banana, and marrons glarestill it looked very ape's path to Paradise. "Unchain the Gyascutis!" said Sir Christopher commandingly. Giuseppeplaced the monkey atop of the organ, where the beast, misunderstanding, stood on his head. "He's throwing himself on the mercy of the Court, me lud, " said Jimmy. "No--now he's interested. Now he's reaching after higher things. Whatwouldn't I give to have here" (he mentioned a name not unhonoured inBritish Art). "Ambition plucking apples of Sodom!" (the monkey hadpricked himself and was swearing). "Genius hampered by Convention? Oh, there's a whole bushelful of allegories in it!" "Give him time. He's balancing the probabilities, " said Lord Lundie. The three closed round the monkey, --hanging on his every motion withan earnestness almost equal to ours. The great judge's head--seamed andvertical forehead, iron mouth, and pike-like under-jaw, all set on thatthick neck rising out of the white flannelled collar--was thrown againstthe puckered green silk of the organ-front as it might have been a cameoof Titus. Jimmy, with raised eyes and parted lips, fingered his grizzledchestnut beard, and I was near enough to-note, the capable beauty of hishands. Sir Christopher stood a little apart, his arms folded behind hisback, one heavy brown boot thrust forward, chin in as curbed, and blackeyebrows lowered to shade the keen eyes. Giuseppe's dark face between flashing earrings, a twisted rag of red andyellow silk round his throat, turned from the reaching yearning monkeyto the pink and white biscuits spiked on the bronzed leafage. And uponthem all fell the serious and workmanlike sun of an English summerforenoon. "Fils de Saint Louis, montez au ciel!" said Lord Lundie suddenly in avoice that made me think of Black Caps. I do not know what themonkey thought, because at that instant he leaped off the organ anddisappeared. There was a clash of broken glass behind the tree. The monkey's face, distorted with passion, appeared at an upper windowof the house, and a starred hole in the stained-glass window to the leftof 'the front door showed the first steps of his upward path. "We've got to catch him, " cried Sir Christopher. "Come along!" They pushed at the door, which was unlocked. "Yes. But consider the ethics of the case, " said Jimmy. "Isn't thisburglary or something, Bubbles?" "Settle that when he's caught, " said Sir Christopher. "We're responsiblefor the beast. " A furious clanging of bells broke out of the empty house, followed bymuffed gurglings and trumpetings. "What the deuce is that?" I asked, half aloud. "The plumbing, of course, " said Penfentenyou. "What a pity! I believehe'd have climbed if Lord Lundie hadn't put him off!" "Wait a moment, Chris, " said Jimmy the interpreter; "Guiseppe says hemay answer to the music of his infancy. Giuseppe, therefore, will goin with the organ. Orpheus with his lute, you know. Avante, Orpheus!There's no Neapolitan for bathroom, but I fancy your friend is there. " "I'm not going into another man's house with a hurdy-gurdy, " said LordLundie, recoiling, as Giuseppe unshipped the working mechanism of theorgan (it developed a hang-down leg) from its wheels, slipped a strapround his shoulders, and gave the handle a twist. "Don't be a cad, Bubbles, " was Jimmy's answer. "You couldn't leave usnow if you were on the Woolsack. Play, Orpheus! The Cadi accompanies. " * * * * * * * * * With a whoop, a buzz, and a crash, the organ sprang to life underthe hand of Giuseppe, and the procession passed through therained-to-imitate-walnut front door. A moment later we saw the monkeyramping on the roof. "He'll be all over the township in a minute if we don't head him, " saidPenfentenyou, leaping to his feet, and crashing into the garden. Weheaded him with pebbles till he retired through a window to the tunefulreminder that he had left a lot of little things behind him. As wepassed the front door it swung open, and showed Jimmy the artist sittingat the bottom of a newly-cleaned staircase. He waggled his hands at us, and when we entered we saw that the man was stricken speechless. Hiseyes grew red--red like a ferret's--and what little breath he hadwhistled shrilly. At first we thought it was a fit, and then we saw thatit was mirth--the inopportune mirth of the Artistic Temperament. The house palpitated to an infamous melody punctuated by the stump ofthe barrel-organ's one leg, as Giuseppe, above, moved from room to roomafter his rebel slave. Now and again a floor shook a little under thecombined rushes of Lord Lundie and Sir Christopher Tomling, who gavemany and contradictory orders. But when they could they cursed Jimmywith splendid thoroughness. "Have you anything to do with the house?" panted Jimmy at last. "Becausewe're using it just now. " He gulped. "And I'm ah--keeping cave. " "All right, " said Penfentenyou, and shut the hall door. "Jimmy, you unspeakable blackguard, Jimmy, you cur! You coward!"(Lord Lundie's voice overbore the flood of melody. ) "Come up here!Giussieppe's saying something we don't understand. " Jimmy listened and interpreted between hiccups. "He says you'd better play the organ, Bubbles, and let him do thestalking. The monkey knows him. " "By Jove, he's quite right, " said Sir Christopher from the landing. "Take it, Bubbles, at once. " "My God!" said Lord Lundie in horror. The chase reverberated over our heads, from the attics to the firstfloor and back again. Bodies and Voices met in collision and argument, and once or twice the organ hit walls and doors. Then it broke forth ina new manner. "He's playing it, " said Jimmy. "I know his acute Justinian ear. Are youfond of music?" "I think Lord Lundie plays very well for a beginner, " I ventured. "Ah! That's the trained legal intellect. Like mastering a brief. Ihaven't got it. " He wiped his eyes and shook. "Hi!" said Penfentenyou, looking through the stained glass window downthe garden. "What's that!" * * * * * * * * * A household removals van, in charge of four men, had halted at thegate. A husband and his wife householders beyond question--quaveredirresolutely up the path. He looked tired. She was certainly cross. In all this haphazard world the last couple to understand a scientificexperiment. I laid hands on Jimmy--the clamour above drowning speech and withPenfentenyou's aid, propped him against the window, that he should see. He saw, nodded, fell as an umbrella can fall, and kneeling, beat hisforehead on the shut door. Penfentenyou slid the bolt. The furniture men reinforced the two figures on the path, and advanced, spreading generously. "Hadn't we better warn them up-stairs?" I suggested: "No. I'll die first!" said Jimmy. "I'm pretty near it now. Besides, theycalled me names. " I turned from the Artist to the Administrator. "Coeteris paribus, I think we'd better be going, " said Penfentenyou, dealer in crises. "Ta--take me with you, " said Jimmy. "I've no reputation to lose, but I'dlike to watch 'em from--er--outside the picture. " "There's always a modus viviendi, " Penfentenyou murmured, and tiptoedalong the hall to a back door, which he opened quite silently. We passedinto a tangle of gooseberry bushes where, at his statesmanlike example, we crawled on all fours, and regained the hedge. Here we lay up, secure in our alibi. "But your firm, "--the woman was wailing to the furniture removalsmen--"your firm promised me everything should be in yesterday. And it'sto-day! You should have been here yesterday!" "The last tenants ain't out yet, lydy, " said one of them. Lord Lundie was rapidly improving in technique, though organ-grinding, unlike the Law, is more of a calling than a trade, and he hungoccasionally on a dead centre. Giuseppe, I think, was singing, but Icould not understand the drift of Sir Christopher's remarks. They wereSpanish. The woman said something we did not catch. "You might 'ave sub-let it, " the man insisted. "Or your gentleman 'eremight. " "But I didn't. Send for the Police at once. " "I wouldn't do that, lydy. They're only fruit pickers on a beano. Theyaren't particular where they sleep. " "D'you mean they've been sleeping there? I only had it cleaned lastweek. Get them out. " "Oh, if you say so, we'll 'ave 'em out of it in two twos. Alf, fetch methe spare swingle-bar. " "Don't! You'll knock the paint off the door. Get them out!" "What the 'ell else am I trying to do for you, lydy?" the man answeredwith pathos; but the woman wheeled on her mate. "Edward! They're all drunk here, and they're all mad there. Dosomething!" she said. Edward took one short step forward, and sighed "Hullo!" in the directionof the turbulent house. The woman walked up and down, the very figureof Domestic Tragedy. The furniture men swayed a little on their heels, and-- "Got him!" The shout rang through all the windows at once. It wasfollowed by a blood-hound-like bay from Sir Christopher, a maniacalprestissimo on the organ, and loud cries, for Jimmy. But Jimmy, at myside, rolled his congested eyeballs, owl-wise. "I never knew them, " he said. "I'm an orphan. " * * * * * * * * * The front, door opened, and the three came forth to short-lived triumph. I had never before seen a Law Lord dressed as for tennis, with astump-leg barrel-organ strapped to his shoulder. But it is a shy birdin this plumage. Lord Lundie strove to disembarrass himself of hisaccoutrements much as an ill-trained Punch and Judy dog tries to escapebackwards through his frilled collar. Sir Christopher, covered withlimewash, cherished a bleeding thumb, and the almost crazy monkey toreat Giuseppe's hair. The men on both sides reeled, but the woman stood her ground. "Idiots!"she said, and once more, "Idiots!" I could have gladdened a few convicts of my acquaintance with aphotograph of Lord Lundie at that instant. "Madam, " he began, wonderfully preserving the roll in his voice, "it wasa monkey. " Sir Christopher sucked his thumb and nodded. "Take it away and go, " she replied. "Go away!" I would have gone, and gladly, on this permission, but these stillstrong men must ever be justifying themselves. Lord Lundie turned to thehusband, who for the first time spoke. "I have rented this house. I am moving in, " he said. "We ought to have been in yesterday, " the woman interrupted. "Yes. We ought to have been in yesterday. Have you slept thereovernight?" said the man peevishly. "No; I assure you we haven't, " said Lord Lundie. "Then go away. Go quite away, " cried the woman. They went--in single file down the path. They went silently, restrappingthe organ on its wheels, and rechaining the monkey to the organ. "Damn it all!" said Penfentenyou. "They do face the music, and they dostick by each other in private life!" "Ties of Common Funk, " I answered. Giuseppe ran to the gate and fledback to the possible world. Lord Lundie and Sir Christopher, constrainedby tradition, paced slowly. Then it came to pass that the woman, who walked behind them, lifted upher eyes, and beheld the tree which they had dressed. "Stop!" she called; and they stopped. "Who did that?" There was no answer. The Eternal Bad Boy in every man hung its headbefore the Eternal Mother in every woman. "Who put these disgusting things there?" she repeated. Suddenly Penfentenyou, Premier of his Colony in all but name, left Jimmyand me, and appeared at the gate. (If he is not turned out of office, that is how he will appear on the Day of Armageddon. ) "Well done you!" he cried zealously, and doffed his hat to the woman. "Have you any children, madam?" he demanded. "Yes, two. They should have been here to-day. The firm promised--" "Then we're not a minute too soon. That monkey escaped. It was a verydangerous beast. 'Might have frightened your children into fits. All theorgan-grinder's fault! A most lucky thing these gentlemen caught it whenthey did. I hope you aren't badly mauled, Sir Christopher?" Shaken asI was (I wanted to get away and laugh) I could not but admire thescoundrel's consummate tact in leading his second highest trump. An asswould have introduced Lord Lundie and they would not have believed him. It took the trick. The couple smiled, and gave respectful thanks fortheir deliverance by such hands from such perils. "Not in the least, " said Lord Lundie. "Anybody--any father would havedone as much, and pray don't apologize your mistake was quite natural. "A furniture man sniggered here, and Lord Lundie rolled an Eye of Doom ontheir ranks. "By the way, if you have trouble with these persons--theyseem to have taken as much as is good for them--please let me know. Er--Good morning!" They turned into the lane. "Heavens!" said Jimmy, brushing himself down. "Who's that real manwith the real head?" and we hurried after them, for they were runningunsteadily, squeaking like rabbits as they ran. We overtook them in alittle nut wood half a mile up the road, where they had turned aside, and were rolling. So we rolled with them, and ceased not till we hadarrived at the extremity of exhaustion. "You--you saw it all, then?" said Lord Lundie, rebuttoning hisnineteen-inch collar. "I saw it was a vital question from the first, " responded Penfentenyou, and blew his nose. "It was. By the way, d'you mind telling me your name?" Summa. Penfentenyou's Great Idea has gone through, a little chippedat the edges, but in fine and far-reaching shape. His Opposite Numberworked at it like a mule--a bewildered mule, beaten from behind, coaxedfrom in front, and propped on either soft side by Lord Lundie of thecompressed mouth and the searing tongue. Sir Christopher Tomling has been ravished from the Argentine, where, after all, he was but preparing trade-routes for hostile peoples, andnow adorns the forefront of Penfentenyou's Advisory Board. This was anunforeseen extra, as was Jimmy's gratis full-length--(it will be in thisyear's Academy) of Penfentenyou, who has returned to his own place. Now and again, from afar off, between the slam and bump of his shiftingscenery, the glare of his manipulated limelight, and the controlledrolling of his thunder-drums, I catch his voice, lifted in encouragementand advice to his fellow-countrymen. He is quite sound on Ties ofSentiment, and--alone of Colonial Statesmen ventures to talk of the Tiesof Common Funk. Herein I have my reward. THE PUZZLER The Celt in all his variants from Builth to Ballyhoo, His mental processes are plain--one knows what he will do, And can logically predicate his finish by his start: But the English--ah, the English!--they are quite a race apart. Their psychology is bovine, their outlook crude and rare; They abandon vital matters to be tickled with a straw; But the straw that they were tickled with--the chaff that they were fed with-- They convert into a weaver's beam to break their foeman's head with. For undemocratic reasons and for motives not of State, They arrive at their conclusions--largely inarticulate. Being void of self-expression they confide their views to none; But sometimes, in a smoking-room, one learns why things were done. In telegraphic sentences, half swallowed at the ends, They hint a matter's inwardness--and there the matter ends. And while the Celt is talking from Valencia to Kirkwall, The English--ah, the English!--don't say anything at all! LITTLE FOXES A TALE OF THE GIHON HUNT A fox came out of his earth on the banks of the Great River Gihon, which waters Ethiopia. He saw a white man riding through the drydhurra-stalks, and, that his destiny might be fulfilled, barked at him. The rider drew rein among the villagers round his stirrup. "What, " said he, "is that?" "That, " said the Sheikh of the village, "is a fox, O Excellency OurGovernor. " "It is not, then, a jackal?" "No jackal, but Abu Hussein the father of cunning. " "Also, " the white man spoke half aloud, "I am Mudir of this Province. " "It is true, " they cried. "Ya, Saart el Mudir" (O Excellency OurGovernor). The Great River Gihon, well used to the moods of kings, slid between hismile-wide banks toward the sea, while the Governor praised God in a loudand searching cry never before heard by the river. When he had lowered his right forefinger from behind his right ear, thevillagers talked to him of their crops--barley, dhurrah, millet, onions, and the like. The Governor stood in his stirrups. North he looked upa strip of green cultivation a few hundred yards wide that lay like acarpet between the river and the tawny line of the desert. Sixty milesthat strip stretched before him, and as many behind. At every half-milea groaning water-wheel lifted the soft water from the river to the cropsby way of a mud-built aqueduct. A foot or so wide was the water-channel;five foot or more high was the bank on which it ran, and its base wasbroad in proportion. Abu Hussein, misnamed the Father of Cunning, drankfrom the river below his earth, and his shadow was long in the low sun. He could not understand the loud cry which the Governor had cried. The Sheikh of the village spoke of the crops from which the rulers ofall lands draw revenue; but the Governor's eyes were fixed, between hishorse's ears, on the nearest water-channel. "Very like a ditch in Ireland, " he murmured, and smiled, dreaming of arazor-topped bank in distant Kildare. Encouraged by that smile, the Sheikh continued. "When crops fail it isnecessary to remit taxation. Then it is a good thing, O ExcellencyOur Governor, that you come and see the crops which have failed, anddiscover that we have not lied. " "Assuredly. " The Governor shortened his reins. The horse cantered on, rose at the embankment of the water-channel, changed leg cleverly ontop, and hopped down in a cloud of golden dust. Abu Hussein from his earth watched with interest. He had never beforeseen such things. "Assuredly, " the Governor repeated, and came back by the way he hadgone. "It is always best to see for one's self. " An ancient and still bullet-speckled stern-wheel steamer, with a bargelashed to her side, came round the river bend. She whistled to tell theGovernor his dinner was ready, and the horse, seeing his fodder piled onthe barge, whinnied back. "Moreover, " the Sheikh added, "in the days of the Oppression the Emirsand their creatures dispossessed many people of their lands. All up anddown the river our people are waiting to return to their lawful fields. " "Judges have been appointed to settle that matter, " said the Governor. "They will presently come in steamers and hear the witnesses. " "Wherefore? Did the Judges kill the Emirs? We would rather be judged bythe men who executed God's judgment on the Emirs. We would rather abideby your decision, O Excellency Our Governor. " The Governor nodded. It was a year since he had seen the Emirs stretchedclose and still round the reddened sheepskin where lay El Mahdi, theProphet of God. Now there remained no trace of their dominion except theold steamer, once part of a Dervish flotilla, which was his house andoffice. She sidled into the shore, lowered a plank, and the Governorfollowed his horse aboard. Lights burned on her till late, dully reflected in the river that tuggedat her mooring-ropes. The Governor read, not for the first time, theadministration reports of one John Jorrocks, M. F. H. "We shall need, " he said suddenly to his Inspector, "about ten couple. I'll get 'em when I go home. You'll be Whip, Baker?" The Inspector, who was not yet twenty-five, signified his assent in theusual manner, while Abu Hussein barked at the vast desert moon. "Ha!" said the Governor, coming out in his pyjamas, "we'll be giving youcapivi in another three months, my friend. " * * * * * It was four, as a matter of fact, ere a steamer with a melodiousbargeful of hounds anchored at that landing. The Inspector leaped downamong them, and the homesick wanderers received him as a brother. "Everybody fed 'em everything on board ship, but they're real daintyhounds at bottom, " the Governor explained. "That's Royal you've got holdof--the pick of the bunch--and the bitch that's got, hold of you--she'sa little excited--is May Queen. Merriman, out of Cottesmore Maudlin, youknow. " "I know. 'Grand old betch with the tan eyebrows, "' the Inspector cooed. "Oh, Ben! I shall take an interest in life now. Hark to 'em! O hark!" Abu Hussein, under the high bank, went about his night's work. An eddycarried his scent to the barge, and three villages heard the crash ofmusic that followed. Even then Abu Hussein did not know better than tobark in reply. "Well, what about my Province?" the Governor asked. "Not so bad, " the Inspector answered, with Royal's head between hisknees. "Of course, all the villages want remission of taxes, but, as faras I can see, the whole country's stinkin' with foxes. Our trouble willbe choppin' 'em in cover. I've got a list of the only villages entitledto any remission. What d'you call this flat-sided, blue-mottled beastwith the jowl?" "Beagle-boy. I have my doubts about him. Do you think we can get twodays a week?" "Easy; and as many byes as you please. The Sheikh of this village heretells me that his barley has failed, and he wants a fifty per centremission. " "We'll begin with him to-morrow, and look at his crops as we go. Nothinglike personal supervision, " said the Governor. They began at sunrise. The pack flew off the barge in every direction, and, after gambols, dug like terriers at Abu Hussein's many earths. Thenthey drank themselves pot-bellied on Gihon water while the Governor andthe Inspector chastised them with whips. Scorpions were added; for MayQueen nosed one, and was removed to the barge lamenting. Mystery (apuppy, alas!) met a snake, and the blue-mottled Beagle-boy (never adainty hound) ate that which he should have passed by. Only Royal, ofthe Belvoir tan head and the sad, discerning eyes, made any attempt touphold the honour of England before the watching village. "You can't expect everything, " said the Governor after breakfast. "We got it, though--everything except foxes. Have you seen May Queen'snose?" said the Inspector. "And Mystery's dead. We'll keep 'em coupled next time till we get wellin among the crops. I say, what a babbling body-snatcher that Beagle-boyis! Ought to be drowned!" "They bury people so damn casual hereabouts. Give him another chance, "the Inspector pleaded, not knowing that he should live to repent mostbitterly. "Talkin' of chances, " said the Governor, "this Sheikh lies about hisbarley bein' a failure. If it's high enough to hide a hound at this timeof year, it's all right. And he wants a fifty per cent remission, yousaid?" "You didn't go on past the melon patch where I tried to turn Wanderer. It's all burned up from there on to the desert. His other water-wheelhas broken down, too, " the Inspector replied. "Very good. We'll split the difference and allow him twenty-five percent off. Where'll we meet to-morrow?" "There's some trouble among the villages down the river about theirland-titles. It's good goin' ground there, too, " the Inspector said. The next meet, then, was some twenty miles down the river, and the packwere not enlarged till they were fairly among the fields. Abu Husseinwas there in force--four of him. Four delirious hunts of four minuteseach--four hounds per fox--ended in four earths just above the river. All the village looked on. "We forgot about the earths. The banks are riddled with 'em. This'lldefeat us, " said the Inspector. "Wait a moment!" The Governor drew forth a sneezing hound. "I've justremembered I'm Governor of these parts. " "Then turn out a black battalion to stop for us. We'll need 'em, oldman. " The Governor straightened his back. "Give ear, O people!" he cried. "Imake a new Law!" The villagers closed in. He called:-- "Henceforward I will give one dollar to the man on whose land AbuHussein is found. And another dollar"--he held up the coin--"to the manon whose land these dogs shall kill him. But to the man on whose landAbu Hussein shall run into a hole such as is this hole, I will give notdollars, but a most unmeasurable beating. Is it understood?" "Our Excellency, " a man stepped forth, "on my land Abu Hussein was foundthis morning. Is it not so, brothers?" None denied. The Governor tossed him over four dollars without a word. "On my land they all went into their holes, " cried another. "Therefore Imust be beaten. " "Not so. The land is mine, and mine are the beatings. " This second speaker thrust forward his shoulders already bared, and thevillagers shouted. "Hullo! Two men anxious to be licked? There must be some swindle aboutthe land, " said the Governor. Then in the local vernacular: "What areyour rights to the beating?" As a river-reach changes beneath a slant of the sun, that which had beena scattered mob changed to a court of most ancient justice. The houndstore and sobbed at Abu Hussein's hearthstone, all unnoticed amongthe legs of the witnesses, and Gihon, also accustomed to laws, purredapproval. "You will not wait till the Judges come up the river to settle thedispute?" said the Governor at last. "No!" shouted all the village save the man who had first asked to bebeaten. "We will abide by Our Excellency's decision. Let Our Excellencyturn out the creatures of the Emirs who stole our land in the days ofthe Oppression. " "And thou sayest?" the Governor turned to the man who had first asked tobe beaten. "I say 1 will wait till the wise Judges come down in the steamer. Then Iwill bring my many witnesses, " he replied. "He is rich. He will bring many witnesses, " the village Sheikh muttered. "No need. Thy own mouth condemns thee!" the Governor cried. "No manlawfully entitled to his land would wait one hour before entering uponit. Stand aside!" The man, fell back, and the village jeered him. The second claimant stooped quickly beneath the lifted hunting-crop. Thevillage rejoiced. "Oh, Such an one; Son of such an one, " said the Governor, prompted bythe Sheikh, "learn, from the day when I send the order, to block up allthe holes where Abu Hussein may hide on--thy--land!" The light flicks ended. The man stood up triumphant. By that accoladehad the Supreme Government acknowledged his title before all men. While the village praised the perspicacity of the Governor, a naked, pock-marked child strode forward to the earth, and stood on one leg, unconcerned as a young stork. "Hal" he said, hands behind his back. "This should be blocked up withbundles of dhurra stalks--or, better, bundles of thorns. " "Better thorns, " said the Governor. "Thick ends innermost. " The child nodded gravely and squatted on the sand. "An evil day for thee, Abu Hussein, " he shrilled into the mouth of theearth. "A day of obstacles to thy flagitious returns in the morning. " "Who is it?" the Governor asked the Sheikh. "It thinks. " "Farag the Fatherless. His people were slain in the days of theOppression. The man to whom Our Excellency has awarded the land is, asit were, his maternal uncle. " "Will it come with me and feed the big dogs?" said the Governor. The other peering children drew back. "Run!" they cried. "Our Excellencywill feed Farag to the big dogs. " "I will come, " said Farag. "And I will never go. " He threw his arm roundRoyal's neck, and the wise beast licked his face. "Binjamin, by Jove!" the Inspector cried. "No!" said the Governor. "I believe he has the makings of a James Pigg!" Farag waved his hand to his uncle, and led Royal on to the barge. Therest of the pack followed. * * * * * Gihon, that had seen many sports, learned to know the Hunt barge well. He met her rounding his bends on grey December dawns to music wild andlamentable as the almost forgotten throb of Dervish drums, when, highabove Royal's tenor bell, sharper even than lying Beagle-boy's falsettobreak, Farag chanted deathless war against Abu Hussein and all his seed. At sunrise the river would shoulder her carefully into her place, andlisten to the rush and scutter of the pack fleeing up the gang-plank, and the tramp of the Governor's Arab behind them. They would pass overthe brow into the dewless crops where Gihon, low and shrunken, couldonly guess what they were about when Abu Hussein flew down the bankto scratch at a stopped earth, and flew back into the barley again. AsFarag had foretold, it was evil days for Abu Hussein ere he learned totake the necessary steps and to get away crisply. Sometimes Gihon sawthe whole procession of the Hunt silhouetted against the morning-blue, bearing him company for many merry miles. At every half mile the horsesand the donkeys jumped the water-channels--up, on, change your leg, andoff again like figures in a zoetrope, till they grew small along theline of waterwheels. Then Gibon waited their rustling return throughthe crops, and took them to rest on his bosom at ten o'clock. While thehorses ate, and Farag slept with his head on Royal's flank, the Governorand his Inspector worked for the good of the Hunt and his Province. After a little time there was no need to beat any man for neglectinghis earths. The steamer's destination was telegraphed from waterwheelto waterwheel, and the villagers stopped out and put to according. If anearth were overlooked, it meant some dispute as to the ownership of theland, and then and there the Hunt checked and settled it in this wise:The Governor and the Inspector side by side, but the latter half ahorse's length to the rear; both bare-shouldered claimants well infront; the villagers half-mooned behind them, and Farag with the pack, who quite understood the performance, sitting down on the left. Twentyminutes were enough to settle the most complicated case, for, as theGovernor said to a judge on the steamer, "One gets at the truth in ahunting-field a heap quicker than in your lawcourts. " "But when the evidence is conflicting?" the Judge suggested. "Watch the field. They'll throw tongue fast enough if you're running awrong scent. You've never had an appeal from one of my decisions yet. " The Sheikhs on horseback--the lesser folk on clever donkeys--thechildren so despised by Farag soon understood that villages whichrepaired their waterwheels and channels stood highest in the Governor'sfavour. He bought their barley, for his horses. "Channels, " he said, "are necessary that we may all jump them. They arenecessary, moreover, for the crops. Let there be many wheels and soundchannels--and much good barley. " "Without money, " replied an aged Sheikh, "there are no waterwheels. " "I will lend the money, " said the Governor. "At what interest, O Our Excellency?" "Take you two of May Queen's puppies to bring up in your village insuch a manner that they do not eat filth, nor lose their hair, nor catchfever from lying in the sun, but become wise hounds. " "Like Ray-yal--not like Bigglebai?" (Already it was an insult alongthe River to compare a man to the shifty anthropophagous blue-mottledharrier. ) "Certainly, like Ray-yal--not in the least like Bigglebai. That shall bethe interest on the loan. Let the puppies thrive and the waterwheel bebuilt, and I shall be content, " said the Governor. "The wheel shall be built, but, O Our Excellency, if by God's favourthe pups grow to be well-smelters, not filth-eaters, not unaccustomed totheir names, not lawless, who will do them and me justice at the time ofjudging the young dogs?" "Hounds, man, hounds! Ha-wands, O Sheikh, we call them in theirmanhood. " "The ha-wands when they are judged at the Sha-ho. I have unfriends downthe river to whom Our Excellency has also entrusted ha-wands to bringup. " "Puppies, man! Pah-peaz we call them, O Sheikh, in their childhood. " "Pah-peat. My enemies may judge my pah-peaz unjustly at the Sha-ho. Thismust be thought of. " "I see the obstacle. Hear now! If the new waterwheel is built in a monthwithout oppression, thou, O Sheikh, shalt be named one of the judges tojudge the pah-peaz at the Sha-ho. Is it understood?" "Understood. We will build the wheel. I and my seed are responsible forthe repayment of the loan. Where are my pah-peaz? If they eat fowls, must they on any account eat the feathers?" "On no account must they eat the feathers. Farag in the barge will tellthee how they are to live. " There is no instance of any default on the Governor's personal andunauthorized loans, for which they called him the Father of Waterwheels. But the first puppyshow at the capital needed enormous tact and thepresence of a black battalion ostentatiously drilling in the barracksquare to prevent trouble after the prize-giving. But who can chronicle the glories of the Gihon Hunt--or their shames?Who remembers the kill in the market-place, when the Governor bade theassembled sheikhs and warriors observe how the hounds would instantlydevour the body of Abu Hussein; but how, when he had scientificallybroken it up, the weary pack turned from it in loathing, and Farag weptbecause he said the world's face had been blackened? What men who havenot yet ridden beyond the sound of any horn recall the midnight runwhich ended--Beagleboy leading--among tombs; the hasty whip-off, and theoath, taken Abo e bones, to forget the worry? The desert run, when AbuHussein forsook the cultivation, and made a six-mile point to earth ina desolate khor--when strange armed riders on camels swooped out of aravine, and instead of giving battle, offered to take the tired houndshome on their beasts. Which they did, and vanished. Above all, who remembers the death of Royal, when a certain Sheikhwept above the body of the stainless hound as it might have been hisson's--and that day the Hunt rode no more? The badly-kept log-book sayslittle of this, but at the end of their second season (forty-nine brace)appears the dark entry: "New blood badly wanted. They are beginning tolisten to beagle-boy. " * * * * * The Inspector attended to the matter when his leave fell due. "Remember, " said the Governor, "you must get us the best blood inEngland--real, dainty hounds--expense no object, but don't trust yourown judgment. Present my letters of introduction, and take what theygive you. " The Inspector presented his letters in a society where they make muchof horses, more of hounds, and are tolerably civil to men who canride. They passed him from house to house, mounted him according to hismerits, and fed him, after five years of goat chop and Worcester sauce, perhaps a thought too richly. The seat or castle where he made his great coup does not much matter. Four Masters of Foxhounds were at table, and in a mellow hour theInspector told them stories of the Gihon Hunt. He ended: "Ben said Iwasn't to trust my own judgment about hounds, but I think there ought tobe a special tariff for Empire-makers. " As soon as his hosts could speak, they reassured him on this point. "And now tell us about your first puppy-show all over again, " said one. "And about the earth-stoppin'. Was that all Ben's own invention?" saidanother. "Wait a moment, " said a large, clean-shaven man--not an M. F. H. --at theend of the table. "Are your villagers habitually beaten by your Governorwhen they fail to stop foxes' holes?" The tone and the phrase were enough even if, as the Inspector confessedafterwards, the big, blue double-chinned man had not looked so likeBeagle-boy. He took him on for the honour of Ethiopia. "We only hunt twice a week--sometimes three times. I've never known aman chastised more than four times a week unless there's a bye. " The large loose-lipped man flung his napkin down, came round the table, cast himself into the chair next the Inspector, and leaned forwardearnestly, so that he breathed in the Inspector's face. "Chastised with what?" he said. "With the kourbash--on the feet. A kourbash is a strip of old hippo-hidewith a sort of keel on it, like the cutting edge of a boar's tusk. Butwe use the rounded side for a first offender. " "And do any consequences follow this sort of thing? For the victim, Imean--not for you?" "Ve-ry rarely. Let me be fair. I've never seen a man die under the lash, but gangrene may set up if the kourbash has been pickled. " "Pickled in what?" All the table was still and interested. "In copperas, of course. Didn't you know that" said the Inspector. "Thank God I didn't. " The large man sputtered visibly. The Inspector wiped his face and grew bolder. "You mustn't think we're careless about our earthstoppers. We've a Huntfund for hot tar. Tar's a splendid dressing if the toe-nails aren'tbeaten off. But huntin' as large a country as we do, we mayn't be backat that village for a month, and if the dressings ain't renewed, andgangrene sets in, often as not you find your man pegging about on hisstumps. We've a well-known local name for 'em down the river. We call'em the Mudir's Cranes. You see, I persuaded the Governor only tobastinado on one foot. " "On one foot? The Mudir's Cranes!" The large man turned purple to thetop of his bald head. "Would you mind giving me the local word forMudir's Cranes?" From a too well-stocked memory the Inspector drew one short adhesiveword which surprises by itself even unblushing Ethiopia. He spelt itout, saw the large man write it down on his cuff and withdraw. Then theInspector translated a few of its significations and implications to thefour Masters of Foxhounds. He left three days later with eight couple ofthe best hounds in England--a free and a friendly and an ample gift fromfour packs to the Gihon Hunt. He had honestly meant to undeceive thelarge blue mottled man, but somehow forgot about it. The new draft marks a new chapter in the Hunt's history. From anisolated phenomenon in a barge it became a permanent institution withbrick-built kennels ashore, and an influence social, political, andadministrative, co-terminous with the boundaries of the province. Ben, the Governor, departed to England, where he kept a pack of real daintyhounds, but never ceased to long for the old lawless lot. His successorswere ex-officio Masters of the Gihon Hunt, as all Inspectors were Whips. For one reason; Farag, the kennel huntsman, in khaki and puttees, wouldobey nothing under the rank of an Excellency, and the hounds would obeyno one but Farag; for another, the best way of estimating crop returnsand revenue was by riding straight to hounds; for a third, thoughJudges down the river issued signed and sealed land-titles to all lawfulowners, yet public opinion along the river never held any such titlevalid till it had been confirmed, according to precedent, by theGovernor's hunting crop in the hunting field, above the wilfullyneglected earth. True, the ceremony had been cut down to three meretaps on the shoulder, but Governors who tried to evade that much foundthemselves and their office compassed about with a great cloud ofwitnesses who took up their time with lawsuits and, worse still, neglected the puppies. The older sheikhs, indeed, stood out for theunmeasurable beatings of the old days--the sharper the punishment, theyargued, the surer the title; but here the hand of modern progress wasagainst them, and they contented themselves with telling tales of Benthe first Governor, whom they called the Father of Waterwheels, and ofthat heroic age when men, horses, and hounds were worth following. This same Modern Progress which brought dog biscuit and brass water-tapsto the kennels was at work all over the world. Forces, Activities, andMovements sprang into being, agitated themselves, coalesced, and, inone political avalanche, overwhelmed a bewildered, and not in the leastintending it, England. The echoes of the New Era were borne into theProvince on the wings of inexplicable cables. The Gihon Hunt readspeeches and sentiments, and policies which amazed them, and theythanked God, prematurely, that their Province was too far off, too hot, and too hard worked to be reached by those speakers or their policies. But they, with others, under-estimated the scope and purpose of the NewEra. One by one, the Provinces of the Empire were hauled up and baited, hitand held, lashed under the belly, and forced back on their haunches forthe amusement of their new masters in the parish of Westminster. One byone they fell away, sore and angry, to compare stripes with each otherat the ends of the uneasy earth. Even so the Gihon Hunt, like AbuHussein in the old days, did not understand. Then it reachedthem through the Press that they habitually flogged to death goodrevenue-paying cultivators who neglected to stop earths; but thatthe few, the very few who did not die under hippohide whips soaked incopperas, walked about on their gangrenous ankle-bones, and were knownin derision as the Mudir's Cranes. The charges were vouched for inthe House of Commons by a Mr. Lethabie Groombride, who had formed aCommittee, and was disseminating literature: The Province groaned; theInspector--now an Inspector of Inspectors--whistled. He had forgottenthe gentleman who sputtered in people's faces. "He shouldn't have looked so like Beagle-boy!" was his sole defence whenhe met the Governor at breakfast on the steamer after a meet. "You shouldn't have joked with an animal of that class, " said Peter theGovernor. "Look what Farag has brought me!" It was a pamphlet, signed on behalf of a Committee by a lady secretary, but composed by some person who thoroughly understood the language ofthe Province. After telling the tale of the beatings, it recommendedall the beaten to institute criminal proceedings against their Governor, and, as soon as might be, to rise against English oppression andtyranny. Such documents were new in Ethiopia in those days. The Inspector read the last half page. "But--but, " he stammered, "thisis impossible. White men don't write this sort of stuff. " "Don't they, just?" said the Governor. "They get made Cabinet Ministersfor doing it too. I went home last year. I know. " "It'll blow over, " said the Inspector weakly. "Not it. Groombride is coming down here to investigate the matter in afew days. " "For himself?" "The Imperial Government's behind him. Perhaps you'd like to look t myorders. " The Governor laid down an uncoded cable. The whiplash to itran: "You will afford Mr. Groombride every facility for his inquiry, and will be held responsible that no obstacles are put in his way tothe fullest possible examination of any witnesses which he may considernecessary. He will be accompanied by his own interpreter, who must notbe tampered with. " "That's to me--Governor of the Province!" said Peter the Governor. "It seems about enough, " the Inspector answered. Farag, kennel-huntsman, entered the saloon, as was his privilege. "My uncle, who was beaten by the Father of Waterwheels, would approach, O Excellency, " he said, "and there are others on the bank. " "Admit, " said the Governor. There tramped aboard sheikhs and villagers to the number of seventeen. In each man's hand was a copy of the pamphlet; in each man's eye terrorand uneasiness of the sort that Governors spend and are spent to clearaway. Farag's uncle, now Sheikh of the village, spoke: "It is written inthis book, Excellency, that the beatings whereby we hold our lands areall valueless. It is written that every man who received such a beatingfrom the Father of Waterwheels who slow the Emirs, should instantlybegin a lawsuit, because the title to his land is not valid. " "It is so written. We do not wish lawsuits. We wish to hold the land asit was given to us after the days of the Oppression, " they cried. The Governor glanced at the Inspector. This was serious. To cast doubton the ownership of land means, in Ethiopia, the letting in of waters, and the getting out of troops. "Your titles are good, " said the Governor. The Inspector confirmed witha nod. "Then what is the meaning of these writings which came from down theriver where the Judges are?" Farag's uncle waved his copy. "By whoseorder are we ordered to slay you, O Excellency Our Governor?" "It is not written that you are to slay me. " "Not in those very words, but if we leave an earth unstopped, it isthe same as though we wished to save Abu Hussein from the hounds. Thesewritings say: 'Abolish your rulers. ' How can we abolish except we kill?We hear rumours of one who comes from down the river soon to lead us tokill. " "Fools!" said the Governor. "Your titles are good. This is madness!" "It is so written, " they answered like a pack. "Listen, " said the Inspector smoothly. "I know who caused the writingsto be written and sent. He is a man of a blue-mottled jowl, in aspectlike Bigglebai who ate unclean matters. He will come up the river andwill give tongue about the beatings. " "Will he impeach our land-titles? An evil day for him!" "Go slow, Baker, " the Governor whispered. "They'll kill him if they getscared about their land. " "I tell a parable. " The Inspector lit a cigarette. "Declare which of youtook to walk the children of Milkmaid?" "Melik-meid First or Second?" said Farag quickly. "The second--the one which was lamed by the thorn. " "No--no. Melik-meid the Second strained her shoulder leaping mywater-channel, " a sheikh cried. "Melik-meid the First was lamed by thethorns on the day when Our Excellency fell thrice. " "True--true. The second Melik-meid's mate was Malvolio, the pied hound, "said the Inspector. "I had two of the second Melik-meid's pups, " said Farag's uncle. "Theydied of the madness in their ninth month. " "And how did they do before they died?" said the Inspector. "They ran about in the sun, and slavered at the mouth till they died. " "Wherefore?" "God knows. He sent the madness. It was no fault of mine. " "Thy own mouth hath answered thee. " The Inspector laughed. "It is withmen as it is with dogs. God afflicts some with a madness. It is no faultof ours if such men run about in the sun and froth at the mouth. Theman who is coming will emit spray from his mouth in speaking, and willalways edge and push in towards his hearers. When ye see and hear him yewill understand that he is afflicted of God: being mad. He is in God'shands. " "But our titles--are our titles to our lands good?" the crowd repeated. "Your titles are in my hands--they are good, " said the Governor. "And he who wrote the writings is an afflicted of God?" said Farag'suncle. "The Inspector hath said it, " cried the Governor. "Ye will see when theman comes. O sheikhs and men, have we ridden together and walked puppiestogether, and bought and sold barley for the horses that after theseyears we should run riot on the scent of a madman--an afflicted of God?" "But the Hunt pays us to kill mad jackals, " said Farag's uncle. "And hewho questions my titles to my land--" "Aahh! 'Ware riot!" The Governor's hunting-crop cracked like athree-pounder. "By Allah, " he thundered, "if the afflicted of God cometo any harm at your hands, I myself will shoot every hound and everypuppy, and the Hunt shall ride no more. On your heads be it. Go inpeace, and tell the others. " "The Hunt shall ride no more, " said Farag's uncle. "Then how can theland be governed? No--no, O Excellency Our Governor, we will not harma hair on the head of the afflicted of God. He shall be to us as is AbuHussein's wife in the breeding season. " When they were gone the Governor mopped his forehead. "We must put a few soldiers in every village this Groombride visits, Baker. Tell 'em to keep out of sight, and have an eye on the villagers. He's trying 'em rather high. " "O Excellency, " said the smooth voice of Farag, laying the Field andCountry Life square on the table, "is the afflicted of God who resemblesBigglebai one with the man whom the Inspector met in the great house inEngland, and to whom he told the tale of the Mudir's Cranes?" "The same man, Farag, " said the Inspector. "I have often heard the Inspector tell the tale to Our Excellency atfeeding-time in the kennels; but since I am in the Government serviceI have never told it to my people. May I loose that tale among thevillages?" * * * * * The Governor nodded. "No harm, " said he. The details of Mr. Groombride's arrival, with his interpreter, whom heproposed should eat with him at the Governor's table, his allocutionto the Governor on the New Movement, and the sins of Imperialism, Ipurposely omit. At three in the afternoon Mr. Groombride said: "I willgo out now and address your victims in this village. " "Won't you find it rather hot?" said the Governor. "They generally take'a nap till sunset at this time of year. " Mr. Groombride's large, loose lips set. "That, " he replied pointedly, "would be enough to decide me. I fear you have not quite mastered yourinstructions. May I ask you to send for my interpreter? I hope he hasnot been tampered with by your subordinates. " He was a yellowish boy called Abdul, who had well eaten and drunk withFarag. The Inspector, by the way, was not present at the meal. "At whatever risk, I shall go unattended, " said Mr. Groombride. "Yourpresence would cow them--from giving evidence. Abdul, my good friend, would you very kindly open the umbrella?" He passed up the gang-plank to the village, and with no more preludethan a Salvation Army picket in a Portsmouth slum, cried: "Oh, mybrothers!" He did not guess how his path had been prepared. The village waswidely awake. Farag, in loose, flowing garments, quite unlike a kennelhuntsman's khaki and puttees, leaned against the wall of his uncle'shouse. "Come and see the afflicted of God, " he cried musically, "whoseface, indeed, resembles that of Bigglebai. " The village came, and decided that on the whole Farag was right. "I can't quite catch what they are saying, " said Mr. Groombride. "They saying they very much pleased to see you, Sar, " Adbul interpreted. "Then I do think they might have sent a deputation to the steamer; butI suppose they were frightened of the officials. Tell them not to befrightened, Abdul. " "He says you are not to be frightened, " Abdul explained. A childhere sputtered with laughter. "Refrain from mirth, " Farag cried. "Theafflicted of God is the guest of The Excellency Our Governor. We areresponsible for every hair of his head. " "He has none, " a voice spoke. "He has the white and the shining mange. " "Now tell them what I have come for, Abdul, and please keep the umbrellawell up. I think I shall reserve myself for my little vernacular speechat the end. " "Approach! Look! Listen!" Abdul chanted. "The afflicted of God will nowmake sport. Presently he will speak in your tongue, and will consumeyou with mirth. I have been his servant for three weeks. I will tell youabout his undergarments and his perfumes for his head. " He told them at length. "And didst thou take any of his perfume bottles?" said Farag at the end. "I am his servant. I took two, " Abdul replied. "Ask him, " said Farag's uncle, "what he knows about our land-titles. Yeyoung men are all alike. " He waved a pamphlet. Mr. Groombride smiled tosee how the seed sown in London had borne fruit by Gihon. Lo! All theseniors held copies of the pamphlet. "He knows less than a buffalo. He told me on the steamer that he wasdriven out of his own land by Demah-Kerazi which is a devil inhabitingcrowds and assemblies, " said Abdul. "Allah between us and evil!" a woman cackled from the darkness of a hut. "Come in, children, he may have the Evil Eye. " "No, my aunt, " said Farag. "No afflicted of God has an evil eye. Waittill ye hear his mirth-provoking speech which he will deliver. I haveheard it twice from Abdul. " "They seem very quick to grasp the point. How far have you got, Abdul?" "All about the beatings, sar. They are highly interested. " "Don't forget about the local self-government, and please hold theumbrella over me. It is hopeless to destroy unless one first builds up. " "He may not have the Evil Eye, " Farag's uncle grunted, "but his devilled him too certainly to question my land-title. Ask him whether hestill doubts my land-title?" "Or mine, or mine?" cried the elders. "What odds? He is an afflicted of God, " Farag called. "Remember the taleI told you. " "Yes, but he is an Englishman, and doubtless of influence, or OurExcellency would not entertain him. Bid the down-country jackass askhim. " "Sar, " said Abdul, "these people, much fearing they may be turned outof their land in consequence of your remarks. Therefore they ask you tomake promise no bad consequences following your visit. " Mr. Groombride held his breath and turned purple. Then he stamped hisfoot. "Tell them, " he cried, "that if a hair of any one of their heads istouched by any official on any account whatever, all England shall ringwith it. Good God! What callous oppression! The dark places of theearth are full of cruelty. " He wiped his face, and throwing out his armscried: "Tell them, oh! tell the poor, serfs not to be afraid of me. Tellthem I come to redress their wrongs--not, heaven knows, to add to theirburden. " The long-drawn gurgle of the practised public speaker pleased them much. "That is how the new water-tap runs out in the kennel, " said Farag. "TheExcellency Our Governor entertains him that he may make sport. Make himsay the mirth-moving speech. " "What did he say about my land-titles?" Farag's uncle was not to beturned. "He says, " Farag interpreted, "that he desires, nothing better than thatyou should live on your lands in peace. He talks as though he believedhimself to be Governor. " "Well. We here are all witnesses to what he has said. Now go forwardwith the sport. " Farag's uncle smoothed his garments. "How diverselyhath Allah made His creatures! On one He bestows strength to slay Emirs;another He causes to go mad and wander in the sun, like the afflictedsons of Melik-meid. " "Yes, and to emit spray from the mouth, as the Inspector told us. Allwill happen as the Inspector foretold, " said Farag. "I have never yetseen the Inspector thrown out during any run. " "I think, " Abdul plucked at Mr. Groombride's sleeves, "I think perhapsit is better now, Sar, if you give your fine little native speech. Theynot understanding English, but much pleased at your condescensions. " "Condescensions?" Mr. Groombride spun round. "If they only knew howI felt towards them in my heart! If I could express a tithe of myfeelings! I must stay here and learn the language. Hold up the umbrella, Abdull I think my little speech will show them I know something of theirvie intime. " It was a short, simple; carefully learned address, and the accent, supervised by Abdul on the steamer, allowed the hearers to guess itsmeaning, which was a request to see one of the Mudir's Cranes; since thedesire of the speaker's life, the object to which he would consecratehis days, was to improve the condition of the Mudir's Cranes. But firsthe must behold them with his own eyes. Would, then, his brethren, whomhe loved, show him a Mudir's Crane whom he desired to love? Once, twice, and again in his peroration he repeated his demand, using always--that they might see he was acquainted with their localargot--using always, I say, the word which the Inspector had givenhim in England long ago--the short, adhesive word which, by itself, surprises even unblushing Ethiopia. There are limits to the sublime politeness of an ancient people. Abulky, blue-chinned man in white clothes, his name red-lettered acrosshis lower shirtfront, spluttering from under a green-lined umbrellaalmost tearful appeals to be introduced to the Unintroducible; namingloudly the Unnameable; dancing, as it seemed, in perverse joy at meremention of the Unmentionable--found those limits. There was a moment'shush, and then such mirth as Gihon through his centuries had neverheard--a roar like to the roar of his own cataracts in flood. Childrencast themselves on the ground, and rolled back and forth cheering andwhooping; strong men, their faces hidden in their clothes, swayed insilence, till the agony became insupportable, and they threw up theirheads and bayed at the sun; women, mothers and virgins, shrilled shriekupon mounting shriek, and slapped their thighs as it might have been theroll of musketry. When they tried to draw breath, some half-strangledvoice would quack out the word, and the riot began afresh. Last to fallwas the city-trained Abdul. He held on to the edge of apoplexy, thencollapsed, throwing the umbrella from him. Mr. Groombride should not be judged too harshly. Exercise and strongemotion under a hot sun, the shock of public ingratitude, for the momentrued his spirit. He furled the umbrella, and with t beat the prostrateAbdul, crying that he had been betrayed. In which posture the Inspector, on horseback, followed by the Governor, suddenly found him. * * * * * "That's all very well, " said the Inspector, when he had taken Abdul'sdramatically dying depositions on the steamer, "but you can't hammer anative merely because he laughs at you. I see nothing for it but the lawto take its course. " "You might reduce the charge to--er--tampering with an interpreter, "said the Governor. Mr. Groombride was too far gone to be comforted. "It's the publicity that I fear, " he wailed. "Is there no possiblemeans of hushing up the affair? You don't know what a question--a singlequestion in the House means to a man of my position--the ruin of mypolitical career, I assure you. " "I shouldn't have imagined it, " said the Governor thoughtfully. "And, though perhaps I ought not to say it, I am not without honourin my own country--or influence. A word in season, as you know, YourExcellency. It might carry an official far. " The Governor shuddered. "Yes, that had to come too, " he said to himself. "Well, look here. If Itell this man of yours to withdraw the charge against you, you can goto Gehenna for aught I care. The only condition I make is that if youwrite--I suppose that's part of your business about your travels, youdon't praise me!" So far Mr. Groombride has loyally adhered to this understanding. GALLIO'S SONG All day long to the judgment-seat The crazed Provincials drew-- All day long at their ruler's feet Howled for the blood of the Jew. Insurrection with one accord Banded itself and woke: And Paul was about to open his mouth When Achaia's Deputy spoke "Whether the God descend from above Or the man ascend upon high, Whether this maker of tents be Jove Or a younger deity-- I will be no judge between your gods And your godless bickerings, Lictor, drive them hence with rods-- I care for none of these things! "Were it a question of lawful due Or a labourer's hire denied, Reason would I should bear with you And order it well to be tried But this is a question of words and names And I know the strife it brings, I will not pass upon any your claims. I care for none of these things. "One thing only I see most clear, As I pray you also see. Claudius Caesar hath set me here Rome's Deputy to be. It is Her peace that ye go to break Not mine, nor any king's, But, touching your clamour of 'conscience sake, ' I care for none of these things!" THE HOUSE SURGEON On an evening after Easter Day, I sat at a table in a homeward boundsteamer's smoking-room, where half a dozen of us told ghost stories. Asour party broke up a man, playing Patience in the next alcove, said tome: "I didn't quite catch the end of that last story about the Curse onthe family's first-born. " "It turned out to be drains, " I explained. "As soon as new ones were putinto the house the Curse was lifted, I believe. I never knew the peoplemyself. " "Ah! I've had my drains up twice; I'm on gravel too. " "You don't mean to say you've a ghost in your house? Why didn't you joinour party?" "Any more orders, gentlemen, before the bar closes?" the stewardinterrupted. "Sit down again, and have one with me, " said the Patience player. "No, it isn't a ghost. Our trouble is more depression than anything else. " "How interesting? Then it's nothing any one can see?" "It's--it's nothing worse than a little depression. And the odd part isthat there hasn't been a death in the house since it was built--in 1863. The lawyer said so. That decided me--my good lady, rather and he made mepay an extra thousand for it. " "How curious. Unusual, too!" I said. "Yes; ain't it? It was built for three sisters--Moultrie was thename--three old maids. They all lived together; the eldest owned it. Ibought it from her lawyer a few years ago, and if I've spent a poundon the place first and last, I must have spent five thousand. Electriclight, new servants' wing, garden--all that sort of thing. A man and hisfamily ought to be happy after so much expense, ain't it?" He looked atme through the bottom of his glass. "Does it affect your family much?" "My good lady--she's a Greek, by the way--and myself are middle-aged. Wecan bear up against depression; but it's hard on my little girl. I saylittle; but she's twenty. We send her visiting to escape it. She almostlived at hotels and hydros, last year, but that isn't pleasant for her. She used to be a canary--a perfect canary--always singing. You ought tohear her. She doesn't sing now. That sort of thing's unwholesome for theyoung, ain't it?" "Can't you get rid of the place?" I suggested. "Not except at a sacrifice, and we are fond of it. Just suits us three. We'd love it if we were allowed. " "What do you mean by not being allowed?" "I mean because of the depression. It spoils everything. " "What's it like exactly?" "I couldn't very well explain. It must be seen to be appreciated, as theauctioneers say. Now, I was much impressed by the story you were tellingjust now. " "It wasn't true, " I said. "My tale is true. If you would do me the pleasure to come down and spenda night at my little place, you'd learn more than you would if I talkedtill morning. Very likely 'twouldn't touch your good self at all. You might be--immune, ain't it? On the other hand, if thisinfluenza, --influence does happen to affect you, why, I think it will bean experience. " While he talked he gave me his card, and I read his name was L. MaxwellM'Leod, Esq. , of Holmescroft. A City address was tucked away in acorner. "My business, " he added, "used to be furs. If you are interested infurs--I've given thirty years of my life to 'em. " "You're very kind, " I murmured. "Far from it, I assure you. I can meet you next Saturday afternoonanywhere in London you choose to name, and I'll be only too happy tomotor you down. It ought to be a delightful run at this time of year therhododendrons will be out. I mean it. You don't know how truly I meanit. Very probably--it won't affect you at all. And--I think I may say Ihave the finest collection of narwhal tusks in the world. All the bestskins and horns have to go through London, and L. Maxwell M'Leod, heknows where they come from, and where they go to. That's his business. " For the rest of the voyage up-channel Mr. M'Leod talked to me of theassembling, preparation, and sale of the rarer furs; and told me thingsabout the manufacture of fur-lined coats which quite shocked me. Somehowor other, when we landed on Wednesday, I found myself pledged to spendthat week-end with him at Holmescroft. On Saturday he met me with a well-groomed motor, and ran me out, in anhour and a half, to an exclusive residential district of dustless roadsand elegantly designed country villas, each standing in from three tofive acres of perfectly appointed land. He told me land was selling ateight hundred pounds the acre, and the new golf links, whose QueenAnne pavilion we passed, had cost nearly twenty-four thousand pounds tocreate. Holmescroft was a large, two-storied, low, creeper-covered residence. A verandah at the south side gave on to a garden and two tennis courts, separated by a tasteful iron fence from a most park-like meadow of fiveor six acres, where two Jersey cows grazed. Tea was ready in the shadeof a promising copper beech, and I could see groups on the lawn ofyoung men and maidens appropriately clothed, playing lawn tennis in thesunshine. "A pretty scene, ain't it?" said Mr. M'Leod. "My good lady's sittingunder the tree, and that's my little girl in pink on the far court. ButI'll take you to your room, and you can see 'em all later. " He led me through a wide parquet-floored hall furnished in pale lemon, with huge Cloisonnee vases, an ebonized and gold grand piano, and banksof pot flowers in Benares brass bowls, up a pale oak staircase to aspacious landing, where there was a green velvet settee trimmed withsilver. The blinds were down, and the light lay in parallel lines on thefloors. He showed me my room, saying cheerfully: "You may be a little tired. Oneoften is without knowing it after a run through traffic. Don't come downtill you feel quite restored. We shall all be in the garden. " My room was rather warm, and smelt of perfumed soap. I threw up thewindow at once, but it opened so close to the floor and worked soclumsily that I came within an ace of pitching out, where I shouldcertainly have ruined a rather lop-sided laburnum below. As I set aboutwashing off the journey's dust, I began to feel a little tired. But, Ireflected, I had not come down here in this weather and among these newsurroundings to be depressed; so I began to whistle. And it was just then that I was aware of a little grey shadow, as itmight have been a snowflake seen against the light, floating at animmense distance in the background of my brain. It annoyed me, and Ishook my head to get rid of it. Then my brain telegraphed that it wasthe forerunner of a swift-striding gloom which there was yet time toescape if I would force my thoughts away from it, as a man leaping forlife forces his body forward and away from the fall of a wall. But thegloom overtook me before I could take in the meaning of the message. Imoved toward the bed, every nerve already aching with the foreknowledgeof the pain that was to be dealt it, and sat down, while my amazed andangry soul dropped, gulf by gulf, into that horror of great darknesswhich is spoken of in the Bible, and which, as auctioneers say, must beexperienced to be appreciated. Despair upon despair, misery upon misery, fear after fear, each causingtheir distinct and separate woe, packed in upon me for an unrecordedlength of time, until at last they blurred together, and I heard a clickin my brain like the click in the ear when one descends in a divingbell, and I knew that the pressures were equalised within and without, and that, for the moment, the worst was at an end. But I knew also thatat any moment the darkness might come down anew; and while, I dwelt onthis speculation precisely as a man torments a raging tooth with histongue, it ebbed away into the little grey shadow on the brain of itsfirst coming, and once more I heard my brain, which knew what wouldrecur, telegraph to every quarter fox help, release or diversion. The door opened, and M'Leod reappeared. I thanked him politely, sayingI was charmed with my room, anxious to meet Mrs. M'Leod, much refreshedwith my wash, and so on and so forth. Beyond a little stickiness atthe corners of my mouth, it seemed to me that I was managing my wordsadmirably; the while that I myself cowered at the bottom of unclimbablepits. M'Leod laid his hand on my shoulder, and said "You've got it nowalready, ain't it?" "Yes, " I answered. "It's making me sick!" "It will pass off when you come outside. I give you my word it will thenpass off. Come!" I shambled out behind him, and wiped my forehead in the hall. "You musn't mind, " he said. "I expect the run tired you. My good lady issitting there under the copper beech. " She was a fat woman in an apricot-coloured gown, with a heavily powderedface, against which her black long-lashed eyes showed like currantsin dough. I was introduced to many fine ladies and gentlemen of thoseparts. Magnificently appointed landaus and covered motors swept in andout of the drive, and the air was gay with the merry outcries of thetennis players. As twilight drew on they all went away, and I was left alone with Mr. And Mrs. M'Leod, while tall menservants and maidservants took away thetennis and tea things. Miss M'Leod had walked a little down the drivewith a light-haired young man, who apparently knew everything aboutevery South American railway stock. He had told me at tea that thesewere the days of financial specialisation. "I think it went off beautifully, my dear, " said Mr. M'Leod to his wife;and to me: "You feel all right now, ain't it? Of course you do. " Mrs. M'Leod surged across the gravel. Her husband skipped nimbly beforeher into the south verandah, turned a switch, and all Holmescroft wasflooded with light. "You can do that from your room also, " he said as they went in. "Thereis something in money, ain't it?" Miss M'Leod came up behind me in the dusk. "We have not yet beenintroduced, " she said, "but I suppose you are staying the night?" "Your father was kind enough to ask me, " I replied. She nodded. "Yes, I know; and you know too, don't you? I saw your facewhen you came to shake hands with mamma. You felt the depression verysoon. It is simply frightful in that bedroom sometimes. What do youthink it is--bewitchment? In Greece, where I was a little girl, it mighthave been; but not in England, do you think? Or do you?" "Cheer up, Thea. It will all come right, " he insisted. "No, papa. " She shook her dark head. "Nothing is right while it comes. " "It is nothing that we ourselves have ever done in our lives that Iwill swear to you, " said Mrs. M'Leod suddenly. "And we have changed ourservants several times. So we know it is not them. " "Never mind. Let us enjoy ourselves while we can, " said Mr. M'Leod, opening the champagne. But we did not enjoy ourselves. The talk failed. There were longsilences. "I beg your pardon, " I said, for I thought some one at my elbow wasabout to speak. "Ah! That is the other thing!" said Miss M'Leod. Her mother groaned. We were silent again, and, in a few seconds it must have been, a livegrief beyond words--not ghostly dread or horror, but aching, helplessgrief--overwhelmed us, each, I felt, according to his or her nature, and held steady like the beam of a burning glass. Behind that pain I wasconscious there was a desire on somebody's part to explain something onwhich some tremendously important issue hung. Meantime I rolled bread pills and remembered my sins; M'Leod consideredhis own reflection in a spoon; his wife seemed to be praying, and thegirl fidgetted desperately with hands and feet, till the darkness passedon--as though the malignant rays of a burning-glass had been shiftedfrom us. "There, " said Miss M'Leod, half rising. "Now you see what makes a happyhome. Oh, sell it--sell it, father mine, and let us go away!" "But I've spent thousands on it. You shall go to Harrogate next week, Thea dear. " "I'm only just back from hotels. I am so tired of packing. " "Cheer up, Thea. It is over. You know it does not often come here twicein the same night. I think we shall dare now to be comfortable. " He lifted a dish-cover, and helped his wife and daughter. His face waslined and fallen like an old man's after debauch, but his hand did notshake, and his voice was clear. As he worked to restore us by speechand action, he reminded me of a grey-muzzled collie herding demoralisedsheep. After dinner we sat round the dining-room fire the drawing-room mighthave been under the Shadow for aught we knew talking with the intimacyof gipsies by the wayside, or of wounded comparing notes after askirmish. By eleven o'clock the three between them had given me everyname and detail they could recall that in any way bore on the house, andwhat they knew of its history. We went to bed in a fortifying blaze of electric light. My one fear wasthat the blasting gust of depression would return--the surest way, of course, to bring it. I lay awake till dawn, breathing quickly andsweating lightly, beneath what De Quincey inadequately describes as"the oppression of inexpiable guilt. " Now as soon as the lovely day wasbroken, I fell into the most terrible of all dreams--that joyous one inwhich all past evil has not only been wiped out of our lives, but hasnever been committed; and in the very bliss of our assured innocence, before our loves shriek and change countenance, we wake to the day wehave earned. It was a coolish morning, but we preferred to breakfast in the southverandah. The forenoon we spent in the garden, pretending to play gamesthat come out of boxes, such as croquet and clock golf. But most of thetime we drew together and talked. The young man who knew all about SouthAmerican railways took Miss M'Leod for a walk in the afternoon, and atfive M'Leod thoughtfully whirled us all up to dine in town. "Now, don't say you will tell the Psychological Society, and that youwill come again, " said Miss M'Leod, as we parted. "Because I know youwill not. " "You should not say that, " said her mother. "You should say, 'Goodbye, Mr. Perseus. Come again. '" "Not him!" the girl cried. "He has seen the Medusa's head!" Looking at myself in the restaurant's mirrors, it seemed to me that Ihad not much benefited by my week-end. Next morning I wrote out allmy Holmescroft notes at fullest length, in the hope that by so doingI could put it all behind me. But the experience worked on my mind, asthey say certain imperfectly understood rays work on the body. I am less calculated to make a Sherlock Holmes than any man I know, for I lack both method and patience, yet the idea of following up thetrouble to its source fascinated me. I had no theory to go on, excepta vague idea that I had come between two poles of a discharge, and hadtaken a shock meant for some one else. This was followed by a feelingof intense irritation. I waited cautiously on myself, expecting to beovertaken by horror of the supernatural, but my self persisted inbeing humanly indignant, exactly as though it had been the victim ofa practical joke. It was in great pains and upheavals--that I felt inevery fibre but its dominant idea, to put it coarsely, was to get backa bit of its own. By this I knew that I might go forward if I could findthe way. After a few days it occurred to me to go to the office of Mr. J. M. M. Baxter--the solicitor who had sold Holmescroft to M'Leod. I explained Ihad some notion of buying the place. Would he act for me in the matter? Mr. Baxter, a large, greyish, throaty-voiced man, showed no enthusiasm. "I sold it to Mr. M'Leod, " he said. "It 'ud scarcely do for me to starton the running-down tack now. But I can recommend--" "I know he's asking an awful price, " I interrupted, "and atop of it hewants an extra thousand for what he calls your clean bill of health. " Mr. Baxter sat up in his chair. I had all his attention. "Your guarantee with the house. Don't you remember it?" "Yes, yes. That no death had taken place in the house since it wasbuilt: I remember perfectly. " He did not gulp as untrained men do when they lie, but his jaws movedstickily, and his eyes, turning towards the deed boxes on the wall, dulled. I counted seconds, one, two, three--one, two, three up to ten. Aman, I knew, can live through ages of mental depression in that time. "I remember perfectly. " His mouth opened a little as though it hadtasted old bitterness. "Of course that sort of thing doesn't appeal to me. " I went on. "I don'texpect to buy a house free from death. " "Certainly not. No one does. But it was Mr. M'Leod's fancy--his wife'srather, I believe; and since we could meet it--it was my duty to myclients at whatever cost to my own feelings--to make him pay. " "That's really why I came to you. I understood from him you knew theplace well. " "Oh, yes. Always did. It originally belonged to some connections ofmine. " "The Misses Moultrie, I suppose. How interesting! They must have lovedthe place before the country round about was built up. " "They were very fond of it indeed. " "I don't wonder. So restful and sunny. I don't see how they could havebrought themselves to part with it. " Now it is one of the most constant peculiarities of the English that inpolite conversation--and I had striven to be polite--no one ever does orsells anything for mere money's sake. "Miss Agnes--the youngest--fell ill" (he spaced his words a little), "and, as they were very much attached to each other, that broke up thehome. " "Naturally. I fancied it must have been something of that kind. One doesn't associate the Staffordshire Moultries" (my Demon ofIrresponsibility at that instant created 'em), "with--with being hardup. " "I don't know whether we're related to them, " he answered importantly. "We may be, for our branch of the family comes from the Midlands. " I give this talk at length, because I am so proud of my first attempt atdetective work. When I left him, twenty minutes later, with instructionsto move against the owner of Holmescroft, with a view to purchase, I wasmore bewildered than any Doctor Watson at the opening of a story. Why should a middle-aged solicitor turn plovers' egg colour and drop hisjaw when reminded of so innocent and festal a matter as that no deathhad ever occurred in a house that he had sold? If I knew my Englishvocabulary at all, the tone in which he said the youngest sister "fellill" meant that she had gone out of her mind. That might explain hischange of countenance, and it was just possible that her dementedinfluence still hung about Holmescroft; but the rest was beyond me. I was relieved when I reached M'Leod's City office, and could tell himwhat I had done--not what I thought. M'Leod was quite willing to enter into the game of the pretendedpurchase, but did not see how it would help if I knew Baxter. "He's the only living soul I can get at who was connected withHolmescroft, " I said. "Ah! Living soul is good, " said M'Leod. "At any rate our little girlwill be pleased that you are still interested in us. Won't you come downsome day this week?" "How is it there now?" I asked. He screwed up his face. "Simply frightful!" he said. "Thea is atDroitwich. " "I should like it immensely, but I must cultivate Baxter for thepresent. You'll be sure and keep him busy your end, won't you?" He looked at me with quiet contempt. "Do not be afraid. I shall be agood Jew. I shall be my own solicitor. " Before a fortnight was over, Baxter admitted ruefully that M'Leodwas better than most firms in the business: We buyers were coy, argumentative, shocked at the price of Holmescroft, inquisitive, andcold by turns, but Mr. M'Leod the seller easily met and surpassed us;and Mr. Baxter entered every letter, telegram, and consultation at theproper rates in a cinematograph-film of a bill. At the end of a monthhe said it looked as though M'Leod, thanks to him, were really goingto listen to reason. I was many pounds out of pocket, but I had learnedsomething of Mr. Baxter on the human side. I deserved it. Never in mylife have I worked to conciliate, amuse, and flatter a human being as Iworked over my solicitor. It appeared that he golfed. Therefore, I was an enthusiastic beginner, anxious to learn. Twice I invaded his office with a bag (M'Leod lent it)full of the spelicans needed in this detestable game, and a vocabularyto match. The third time the ice broke, and Mr. Baxter took me to hislinks, quite ten miles off, where in a maze of tramway lines, railroads, and nursery-maids, we skelped our divotted way round nine holes likebarges plunging through head seas. He played vilely and had neverexpected to meet any one worse; but as he realised my form, I thinkhe began to like me, for he took me in hand by the two hours together. After a fortnight he could give me no more than a stroke a hole, andwhen, with this allowance, I once managed to beat him by one, he washonestly glad, and assured me that I should be a golfer if I stuckto it. I was sticking to it for my own ends, but now and again myconscience pricked me; for the man was a nice man. Between games hesupplied me with odd pieces of evidence, such as that he had known theMoultries all his life, being their cousin, and that Miss Mary, theeldest, was an unforgiving woman who would never let bygones be. I naturally wondered what she might have against him; and somehowconnected him unfavourably with mad Agnes. "People ought to forgive and forget, " he volunteered one day betweenrounds. "Specially where, in the nature of things, they can't be sure oftheir deductions. Don't you think so?" "It all depends on the nature of the evidence on which one forms one'sjudgment, " I answered. "Nonsense!" he cried. "I'm lawyer enough to know that there's nothing inthe world so misleading as circumstantial evidence. Never was. " "Why? Have you ever seen men hanged on it?" "Hanged? People have been supposed to be eternally lost on it, " his faceturned grey again. "I don't know how it is with you, but my consolationis that God must know. He must! Things that seem on the face of 'em likemurder, or say suicide, may appear different to God. Heh?" "That's what the murderer and the suicide can always hope--I suppose. " "I have expressed myself clumsily as usual. The facts as God knows'em--may be different--even after the most clinching evidence. I'vealways said that--both as a lawyer and a man, but some people won't--Idon't want to judge 'em--we'll say they can't--believe it; whereas Isay there's always a working chance--a certainty--that the worst hasn'thappened. " He stopped and cleared his throat. "Now, let's come on! Thistime next week I shall be taking my holiday. " "What links?" I asked carelessly, while twins in a perambulator got outof our line of fire. "A potty little nine-hole affair at a hydro in the Midlands. My cousinsstay there. Always will. Not but what the fourth and the seventh holestake some doing. You could manage it, though, " he said encouragingly. "You're doing much better. It's only your approach shots that are weak. " "You're right. I can't approach for nuts! I shall go to pieces whileyou're away--with no one to coach me, " I said mournfully. "I haven't taught you anything, " he said, delighted with the compliment. "I owe all I've learned to you, anyhow. When will you come back?" "Look here, " he began. "I don't know, your engagements, but I've no oneto play with at Burry Mills. Never have. Why couldn't you take a fewdays off and join me there? I warn you it will be rather dull. It's athroat and gout place-baths, massage, electricity, and so forth. But thefourth and the seventh holes really take some doing. " "I'm for the game, " I answered valiantly; Heaven well knowing that Ihated every stroke and word of it. "That's the proper spirit. As their lawyer I must ask you not to sayanything to my cousins about Holmescroft. It upsets 'em. Always did. Butspeaking as man to man, it would be very pleasant for me if you couldsee your way to--" I saw it as soon as decency permitted, and thanked him sincerely. According to my now well-developed theory he had certainlymisappropriated his aged cousins' monies under power of attorney, andhad probably driven poor Agnes Moultrie out of her wits, but I wishedthat he was not so gentle, and good-tempered, and innocent eyed. Before I joined him at Burry Mills Hydro, I spent a night atHolmescroft. Miss M'Leod had returned from her Hydro, and first we madevery merry on the open lawn in the sunshine over the manners and customsof the English resorting to such places. She knew dozens of hydros, andwarned me how to behave in them, while Mr. And Mrs. M'Leod stood asideand adored her. "Ah! That's the way she always comes back to us, " he said. "Pity itwears off so soon, ain't it? You ought to hear her sing 'With mirth thoupretty bird. '" We had the house to face through the evening, and there we neitherlaughed nor sung. The gloom fell on us as we entered, and did not shifttill ten o'clock, when we crawled out, as it were, from beneath it. "It has been bad this summer, " said Mrs. M'Leod in a whisper after werealised that we were freed. "Sometimes I think the house will get upand cry out--it is so bad. " "How?" "Have you forgotten what comes after the depression?" So then we waited about the small fire, and the dead air in the roompresently filled and pressed down upon us with the sensation (but wordsare useless here) as though some dumb and bound power were strivingagainst gag and bond to deliver its soul of an articulate word. Itpassed in a few minutes, and I fell to thinking about Mr. Baxter'sconscience and Agnes Moultrie, gone mad in the well-lit bedroomthat waited me. These reflections secured me a night during which Irediscovered how, from purely mental causes, a man can be physicallysick; but the sickness was bliss compared to my dreams when the birdswaked. On my departure, M'Leod gave me a beautiful narwhal's horn, muchas a nurse gives a child sweets for being brave at a dentist's. "There's no duplicate of it in the world, " he said, "else it would havecome to old Max M'Leod;" and he tucked it into the motor. Miss M'Leodon the far side of the car whispered, "Have you found out anything, Mr. Perseus?" I shook my head. "Then I shall be chained to my rock all my life, " she went on. "Onlydon't tell papa. " I supposed she was thinking of the young gentleman who specialised inSouth American rails, for I noticed a ring on the third finger of herleft hand. I went straight from that house to Burry Mills Hydro, keen for the firsttime in my life on playing golf, which is guaranteed to occupy the mind. Baxter had taken me a room communicating with his own, and after lunchintroduced me to a tall, horse-headed elderly lady of decided manners, whom a white-haired maid pushed along in a bath-chair through thepark-like grounds of the Hydro. She was Miss Mary Moultrie, and shecoughed and cleared her throat just like Baxter. She suffered--shetold me it was a Moultrie castemark--from some obscure form of chronicbronchitis, complicated with spasm of the glottis; and, in a dead, flatvoice, with a sunken eye that looked and saw not, told me what washes, gargles, pastilles, and inhalations she had proved most beneficial. Fromher I was passed on to her younger sister, Miss Elizabeth, a small andwithered thing with twitching lips, victim, she told me, to verymuch the same sort of throat, but secretly devoted to another set ofmedicines. When she went away with Baxter and the bath-chair, I fellacross a major of the Indian army with gout in his glassy eyes, and astomach which he had taken all round the Continent. He laid everythingbefore me; and him I escaped only to be confided in by a matron witha tendency to follicular tonsilitis and eczema. Baxter waited hand andfoot on his cousins till five o'clock, trying, as I saw, to atone forhis treatment of the dead sister. Miss Mary ordered him about like adog. "I warned you it would be dull, " he said when we met in thesmoking-room. "It's tremendously interesting, " I said. "But how about a look round thelinks?" "Unluckily damp always affects my eldest cousin. I've got to buy her anew bronchitis-kettle. Arthurs broke her old one yesterday. " We slipped out to the chemist's shop in the town, and he bought a largeglittering tin thing whose workings he explained. "I'm used to this sort of work. I come up here pretty often, " he said. "I've the family throat too. " "You're a good man, " I said. "A very good man. " He turned towards me in the evening light among the beeches, and hisface was changed to what it might have been a generation before. "You see, " he said huskily, "there was the youngest--Agnes. Beforeshe fell ill, you know. But she didn't like leaving her sisters. Neverwould. " He hurried on with his odd-shaped load and left me among theruins of my black theories. The man with that face had done AgnesMoultrie no wrong. We never played our game. I was waked between two and three in themorning from my hygienic bed by Baxter in an ulster over orange andwhite pyjamas, which I should never have suspected from his character. "My cousin has had some sort of a seizure, " he said. "Will you come? Idon't want to wake the doctor. Don't want to make a scandal. Quick!" So I came quickly, and led by the white-haired Arthurs in a jacket andpetticoat, entered a double-bedded room reeking with steam and Friar'sBalsam. The electrics were all on. Miss Mary--I knew her by herheight--was at the open window, wrestling with Miss Elizabeth, whogripped her round the knees. Miss Mary's hand was at her own throat, which was streaked with blood. "She's done it. She's done it too!" Miss Elizabeth panted. "Hold her!Help me!" "Oh, I say! Women don't cut their throats, " Baxter whispered. "My God! Has she cut her throat?" the maid cried out, and with nowarning rolled over in a faint. Baxter pushed her under the wash-basins, and leaped to hold the gaunt woman who crowed and whistled as shestruggled toward the window. He took her by the shoulder, and she struckout wildly: "All right! She's only cut her hand, " he said. "Wet towel quick!" While I got that he pushed her backward. Her strength seemed almost asgreat as his. I swabbed at her throat when I could, and found no mark;then helped him to control her a little. Miss Elizabeth leaped back tobed, wailing like a child. "Tie up her hand somehow, " said Baxter. "Don't let it drip about theplace. She"--he stepped on broken glass in his slippers, "she must havesmashed a pane. " Miss Mary lurched towards the open window again, dropped on her knees, her head on the sill, and lay quiet, surrendering the cut hand to me. "What did she do?" Baxter turned towards Miss Elizabeth in the far bed. "She was going to throw herself out of the window, " was the answer. "I stopped her, and sent Arthurs for you. Oh, we can never hold up ourheads again!" Miss Mary writhed and fought for breath. Baxter found a shawl which hethrew over her shoulders. "Nonsense!" said he. "That isn't like Mary;" but his face worked when hesaid it. "You wouldn't believe about Aggie, John. Perhaps you will now!" saidMiss Elizabeth. "I saw her do it, and she's cut her throat too!" "She hasn't, " I said. "It's only her hand. " Miss Mary suddenly broke from us with an indescribable grunt, flew, rather than ran, to her sister's bed, and there shook her as one furiousschoolgirl would shake another. "No such thing, " she croaked. "How dare you think so, you wicked littlefool?" "Get into bed, Mary, " said Baxter. "You'll catch a chill. " She obeyed, but sat up with the grey shawl round her lean shoulders, glaring at her sister. "I'm better now, " she panted. "Arthurs let mesit out too long. Where's Arthurs? The kettle. " "Never mind Arthurs, " said Baxter. "You get the kettle. " I hastened tobring it from the side table. "Now, Mary, as God sees you, tell me whatyou've done. " His lips were dry, and he could not moisten. Them with his tongue. Miss Mary applied herself to the mouth of the kettle, and betweenindraws of steam said: "The spasm came on just now, while I was asleep. I was nearly choking to death. So I went to the window I've done itoften before, without, waking any one. Bessie's such an old maid aboutdraughts. I tell you I was choking to death. I couldn't manage thecatch, and I nearly fell out. That window opens too low. I cut my handtrying to save myself. Who has tied it up in this filthy handkerchief?I wish you had had my throat, Bessie. I never was nearer dying!" Shescowled on us all impartially, while her sister sobbed. From the bottom of the bed we heard a quivering voice: "Is she dead?Have they took her away? Oh, I never could bear the sight o' blood!" "Arthurs, " said Miss Mary, "you are an hireling. Go away!" It is my belief that Arthurs crawled out on all fours, but I was busypicking up broken glass from the carpet. Then Baxter, seated by the side of the bed, began to cross-examine ina voice I scarcely recognised. No one could for an instant have doubtedthe genuine rage of Miss Mary against her sister, her cousin, or hermaid; and that a doctor should have been called in for she did me thehonour of calling me doctor--was the last drop. She was choking with herthroat; had rushed to the window for air; had near pitched out, and incatching at the window bars had cut her hand. Over and over she madethis clear to the intent Baxter. Then she turned on her sister andtongue-lashed her savagely. "You mustn't blame me, " Miss Bessie faltered at last. "You know what wethink of night and day. ". "I'm coming to that, " said Baxter. "Listen to me. What you did, Mary, misled four people into thinking you--you meant to do away withyourself. " "Isn't one suicide in the family enough? Oh God, help and pity us! Youcouldn't have believed that!" she cried. "The evidence was complete. Now, don't you think, " Baxter's fingerwagged under her nose--"can't you think that poor Aggie did the samething at Holmescroft when she fell out of the window?" "She had the same throat, " said Miss Elizabeth. "Exactly the samesymptoms. Don't you remember, Mary?" "Which was her bedroom?" I asked of Baxter in an undertone. "Over the south verandah, looking on to the tennis lawn. " "I nearly fell out of that very window when I was atHolmescroft--opening it to get some air. The sill doesn't come muchabove your knees, " I said. "You hear that, Mary? Mary, do you hear What this gentleman says? Won'tyou believe that what nearly happened to you must have happened topoor Aggie that night? For God's sake--for her sake--Mary, won't youbelieve?" There was a long silence while the steam kettle puffed. "If I could have proof--if I could have proof, " said she, and broke intomost horrible tears. Baxter motioned to me, and I crept away to my room, and lay awake tillmorning, thinking more specially of the dumb Thing at Holmescroft whichwished to explain itself. I hated Miss Mary as perfectly as though I hadknown her for twenty years, but I felt that, alive or dead, I should notlike her to condemn me. Yet at mid-day, when I saw Miss Mary in her bathchair, Arthurs behindand Baxter and Miss Elizabeth on either side, in the park-like groundsof the Hydro, I found it difficult to arrange my words. "Now that you know all about it, " said Baxter aside, after the firststrangeness of our meeting was over, "it's only fair to tell you thatmy poor cousin did not die in Holmescroft at all. She was dead when theyfound her under the window in the morning. Just dead. " "Under that laburnum outside the window?" I asked, for I suddenlyremembered the crooked evil thing. "Exactly. She broke the tree in falling. But no death has ever takenplace in the house, so far as we were concerned. You can make yourselfquite easy on that point. Mr. M'Leod's extra thousand for what youcalled the 'clean bill of health' was something toward my cousins'estate when we sold. It was my duty as their lawyer to get it forthem--at any cost to my own feelings. " I know better than to argue when the English talk about their duty. So Iagreed with my solicitor. "Their sister's death must have been a great blow to your cousins, " Iwent on. The bath-chair was behind me. "Unspeakable, " Baxter whispered. "They brooded on it day and night. No wonder. If their theory of poor Aggie making away with herself wascorrect, she was eternally lost!" "Do you believe that she made away with herself?" "No, thank God! Never have! And after what happened to Mary last night, I see perfectly what happened to poor Aggie. She had the family throattoo. By the way, Mary thinks you are a doctor. Otherwise she wouldn'tlike your having been in her room. " "Very good. Is she convinced now about her sister's death?" "She'd give anything to be able to believe it, but she's a hard woman, and brooding along certain lines makes one groovy. I have sometimes beenafraid of her reason--on the religious side, don't you know. Elizabethdoesn't matter. Brain of a hen. Always had. " Here Arthurs summoned me to the bath-chair, and the ravaged face, beneath its knitted Shetland wool hood, of Miss Mary Moultrie. "I need not remind you, I hope, of the seal of secrecy--absolutesecrecy--in your profession, " she began. "Thanks to my cousin's and mysister's stupidity, you have found out, " she blew her nose. "Please don't excite her, sir, " said Arthurs at the back. "But, my dear Miss Moultrie, I only know what I've seen, of course, but it seems to me that what you thought was a tragedy in your sister'scase, turns out, on your own evidence, so to speak, to have been anaccident--a dreadfully sad one--but absolutely an accident. " "Do you believe that too?" she cried. "Or are you only saying it tocomfort me?" "I believe it from the bottom of my heart. Come down to Holmescroft foran hour--for half an hour and satisfy yourself. " "Of what? You don't understand. I see the house every day-every night. I am always there in spirit--waking or sleeping. I couldn't face it inreality. " "But you must, " I said. "If you go there in the spirit the greater needfor you to go there in the flesh. Go to your sister's room once more, and see the window--I nearly fell out of it myself. It's--it's awfullylow and dangerous. That would convince you, " I pleaded. "Yet Aggie had slept in that room for years, " she interrupted. "You've slept in your room here for a long time, haven't you? But younearly fell out of the window when you were choking. " "That is true. That is one thing true, " she nodded. "And I might havebeen killed as--perhaps Aggie was killed. " "In that case your own sister and cousin and maid would have said youhad committed suicide, Miss Moultrie. Come down to Holmescroft, and goover the place just once. " "You are lying, " she said quite quietly. "You don't want me to come downto see a window. It is something else. I warn you we are Evangelicals. We don't believe in prayers for the dead. 'As the tree falls--'" "Yes. I daresay. But you persist in thinking that your sister committedsuicide--" "No! No! I have always prayed that I might have misjudged her. " Arthurs at the bath-chair spoke up: "Oh, Miss Mary! you would 'ave itfrom the first that poor Miss Aggie 'ad made away with herself; an', ofcourse, Miss Bessie took the notion from you: Only Master--Mister Johnstood out, --and--and I'd 'ave taken my Bible oath you was making awaywith yourself last night. " Miss Mary leaned towards me, one finger on my sleeve. "If going to Holmescroft kills me, " she said, "you will have the murderof a fellow-creature on your conscience for all eternity. " "I'll risk it, " I answered. Remembering what torment the mere reflectionof her torments had cast on Holmescroft, and remembering, above all, thedumb Thing that filled the house with its desire to speak, I felt thatthere might be worse things. Baxter was amazed at the proposed visit, but at a nod from that terriblewoman went off to make arrangements. Then I sent a telegram to M'Leodbidding him and his vacate Holmescroft for that afternoon. Miss Maryshould be alone with her dead, as I had been alone. I expected untold trouble in transporting her, but to do her justice, the promise given for the journey, she underwent it without murmur, spasm, or unnecessary word. Miss Bessie, pressed in a corner by thewindow, wept behind her veil, and from time to time tried to takehold of her sister's hand. Baxter wrapped himself in his newly foundhappiness as selfishly as a bridegroom, for he sat still and smiled. "So long as I know that Aggie didn't make away with herself, " heexplained, "I tell you frankly I don't care what happened. She's as hardas a rock--Mary. Always was. She won't die. " We led her out on to the platform like a blind woman, and so got herinto the fly. The half-hour crawl to Holmescroft was the most rackingexperience of the day. M'Leod had obeyed my instructions. There was noone visible in the house or the gardens; and the front door stood open. Miss Mary rose from beside her sister, stepped forth first, and enteredthe hall. "Come, Bessie, " she cried. "I daren't. Oh, I daren't. " "Come!" Her voice had altered. I felt Baxter start. "There's nothing tobe afraid of. " "Good heavens!" said Baxter. "She's running up the stairs. We'd betterfollow. " "Let's wait below. She's going to the room. " We heard the door of the bedroom I knew open and shut, and we waited inthe lemon-coloured hall, heavy with the scent of flowers. "I've never been into it since it was sold, " Baxter sighed. "What alovely, restful plate it is! Poor Aggie used to arrange the flowers. " "Restful?" I began, but stopped of a sudden, for I felt all over mybruised soul that Baxter was speaking truth. It was a light, spacious, airy house, full of the sense of well-being and peace--above all things, of peace. I ventured into the dining-room where the thoughtful M'Leod'shad left a small fire. There was no terror there, present or lurking;and in the drawing-room, which for good reasons we had never caredto enter, the sun and the peace and the scent of the flowers workedtogether as is fit in an inhabited house. When I returned to the hall, Baxter was sweetly asleep on a couch, looking most unlike a middle-agedsolicitor who had spent a broken night with an exacting cousin. There was ample time for me to review it all--to felicitate myself uponmy magnificent acumen (barring some errors about Baxter as a thiefand possibly a murderer), before the door above opened, and Baxter, evidently a light sleeper, sprang awake. "I've had a heavenly little nap, " he said, rubbing his eyes with thebacks of his hands like a child. "Good Lord! That's not their step!" But it was. I had never before been privileged to see the Shadowturned backward on the dial--the years ripped bodily off poor humanshoulders--old sunken eyes filled and alight--harsh lips moistened andhuman. "John, " Miss Mary called, "I know now. Aggie didn't do it!" and "Shedidn't do it!" echoed Miss Mary. "I did not think it wrong to say a prayer, " Miss Mary continued. "Notfor her soul, but for our peace. Then I was convinced. " "Then we got conviction, " the younger sister piped. "We've misjudged poor Aggie, John. But I feel she knows now. Wherevershe is, she knows that we know she is guiltless. " "Yes, she knows. I felt it too, " said Miss Elizabeth. "I never doubted, " said John' Baxter, whose face was beautiful at thathour. "Not from the first. Never have!" "You never offered me proof, John. Now, thank God, it will not be thesame any more. I can think henceforward of Aggie without sorrow. " Shetripped, absolutely tripped, across the hall. "What ideas these Jewshave of arranging furniture!" She spied me behind a big Cloisonnee vase. "I've seen the window, " she said remotely. "You took a great risk inadvising me to undertake such a journey. However, as it turns out. .. I forgive you, and I pray you may never know what mental anguish means!Bessie! Look at this peculiar piano! Do you suppose, Doctor, thesepeople would offer one tea? I miss mine. " "I will go and see, " I said, and explored M'Leod's new-built servants'wing. It was in the servants' hall that I unearthed the M'Leod family, bursting with anxiety. "Tea for three, quick, " I said. "If you ask me any questions now, I shall have a fit!" So Mrs. M'Leod got it, and I was butler, amidmurmured apologies from Baxter, still smiling and self-absorbed, andthe cold disapproval of Miss Mary, who thought the pattern of the chinavulgar. However, she ate well, and even asked me whether I would notlike a cup of tea for myself. They went away in the twilight--the twilight that I had once feared. They were going to an hotel in London to rest after the fatigues of theday, and as their fly turned down the drive, I capered on the door step, with the all-darkened house behind me. Then I heard the uncertain feet of the M'Leods and bade them not to turnon the lights, but to feel--to feel what I had done; for the Shadow wasgone, with the dumb desire in the air. They drew short, but afterwardsdeeper, breaths, like bathers entering chill water, separated one fromthe other, moved about the hall, tiptoed upstairs, raced down, and thenMiss M'Leod, and I believe her mother, though she denies this, embracedme. I know M'Leod did. It was a disgraceful evening. To say we rioted through the house is toput it mildly. We played a sort of Blind Man's Buff along the darkestpassages, in the unlighted drawing-room, and little dining-room, callingcheerily to each other after each exploration that here, and here, andhere, the trouble-had removed itself. We came up to the bedroom--minefor the night again--and sat, the women on the bed, and we menon chairs, drinking in blessed draughts of peace and comfort andcleanliness of soul, while I told them my tale in full, and receivedfresh praise, thanks, and blessings. When the servants, returned from their day's outing, gave us a supperof cold fried fish, M'Leod had sense enough to open no wine. We hadbeen practically drunk since nightfall, and grew incoherent on water andmilk. "I like that Baxter, " said M'Leod. "He's a sharp man. The death wasn'tin the house, but he ran it pretty close, ain't it?" "And the joke of it is that he supposes I want to buy the place fromyou, " I said. "Are you selling?" "Not for twice what I paid for it--now, " said M'Leod. "I'll keep you infurs all your life, but not our Holmescroft. " "No--never our Holmescroft, " said Miss M'Leod. "We'll ask him here onTuesday, mamma. " They squeezed each other's hands. "Now tell me, " said Mrs. M'Leod--"that tall one, I saw out of thescullery window--did she tell you she was always here in the spirit? Ihate her. She made all this trouble. It was not her house after she hadsold it. What do you think?" "I suppose, " I answered, "she brooded over what she believed was hersister's suicide night and day--she confessed she did--and her thoughtsbeing concentrated on this place, they felt like a--like a burningglass. " "Burning glass is good, " said M'Leod. "I said it was like a light of blackness turned on us, " cried the girl, twiddling her ring. "That must have been when the tall one thought worstabout her sister and the house. " "Ah, the poor Aggie!" said Mrs. M'Leod. "The poor Aggie, trying totell every one it was not so! No wonder we felt Something wished to saySomething. Thea, Max, do you remember that night?" "We need not remember any more, " M'Leod interrupted. "It is not ourtrouble. They have told each other now. " "Do you think, then, " said Miss M'Leod, "that those two, the livingones, were actually told something--upstairs--in your in the room?" "I can't say. At any rate they were made happy, and they ate a big teaafterwards. As your father says, it is not our trouble any longer--thankGod!" "Amen!" said M'Leod. "Now, Thea, let us have some music after all thesemonths. 'With mirth, thou pretty bird, ' ain't it? You ought to hearthat. " And in the half-lighted hall, Thea sang an old English song that I hadnever heard before. With mirth, thou pretty bird, rejoice Thy Maker's praise enhanced; Lift up thy shrill and pleasant voice, Thy God is high advanced! Thy food before He did provide, And gives it in a fitting side, Wherewith be thou sufficed! Why shouldst thou now unpleasant be, Thy wrath against God venting, That He a little bird made thee, Thy silly head tormenting, Because He made thee not a man? Oh, Peace! He hath well thought thereon, Therewith be thou sufficed! THE RABBI'S SONG IF THOUGHT can reach to Heaven, On Heaven let it dwell, For fear that Thought be given Like power to reach to Hell. For fear the desolation And darkness of thy mind, Perplex an habitation Which thou hast left behind. Let nothing linger after-- No whispering ghost remain, In wall, or beam, or rafter, Of any hate or pain: Cleanse and call home thy spirit, Deny her leave to cast, On aught thy heirs inherit, The shadow of her past. For think, in all thy sadness, What road our griefs may take; Whose brain reflect our madness, Or whom our terrors shake. For think, lest any languish By cause of thy distress The arrows of our anguish Fly farther than we guess. Our lives, our tears, as water, Are spilled upon the ground; God giveth no man quarter, Yet God a means hath found; Though faith and hope have vanished, And even love grows dim; A means whereby His banished Be not expelled from Him!