repudiate me. For all he had caught of our mumbled introduction I might
have been Blackman myself.

"Possibly you're right," he said reluctantly.

Another bird said "Chiff-chaff" from another tree and I thought it wise
to be generous. "There," I said, "now that _was_ a Chiff-chaff."

The earnest-looking girl remarked (silly creature) that it sounded just
like the other one, but nobody took any notice of her. They were all
busy admiring me.

Of course I mustn't meet the Authority again, because you may be pretty
sure that when he got back to his books he looked up Blackman's Warbler
and found that there was no such animal. But if you mix in the right
society, and only see the wrong people once, it is really quite easy to
be an authority on birds--or, I imagine, on anything else.

THE LAST STRAW

It was one of those summer evenings with the chill on, so after dinner we
lit the smoking-room fire and wondered what to do. There were eight of
us; just the right number for two bridge tables, or four picquet pairs,
or eight patience singles.

"Oh, no, not cards," said Celia quickly. "They're so dull."

"Not when you get a grand slam," said our host, thinking of an accident
which had happened to him the night before.

"Even then I don't suppose anybody laughed."

Peter and I, who were partners on that occasion, admitted that we hadn't
laughed.

"Well, there you are," said Celia triumphantly. "Let's play proverbs."

"I don't think I know it," said Herbert. (He wouldn't.)

"Oh, it's quite easy. First you think of a proverb."

"Like 'A burnt camel spoils the moss,'" I explained.

"You mean 'A burnt child dreads the fire,'" corrected Herbert.

Celia caught my eye and went on hurriedly, "Well, then somebody goes
outside, and then he asks questions--"

"From outside?" asked Mrs. Herbert.

"From inside," I assured her. "Generally from very near the fire, because
he has got so cold waiting in the hall."

"Oh, yes, I see."

"And then he asks questions, and we each have to get one of the words of
the proverb into our answer, without letting him know what the proverb
is. It's rather fun."

Peter and his wife, who knew the game, agreed. Mrs. Herbert seemed
resigned to the worst, but Herbert, though faint, was still pursuing.

"But doesn't he _guess_ what the proverb is?" he asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. "But sometimes, if we are very, very clever, he
doesn't. That, in fact, is the game."

Our host got