to a corner
with handkerchiefs stuffed into their mouths to listen to Captain Ross
stammer an embarrassed reply. They were both much relieved when Mr.
Merivale by a series of the most atrocious puns allowed their laughter
to flow forth without restraint. All the guests went back to London
later in the afternoon and Michael and Alan were left to the supervision
of Nancy, who had promised to take them out for a day's shooting. They
had a wonderful day over the flickering September stubble. Michael shot
a lark by mistake and Alan wounded a land-rail; Nancy, however, redeemed
the party's credit by bagging three brace of fat French partridges
which, when eaten, tasted like pigeons, because the boys could not bear
to wait for them to be hung even for two hours.

Michael had a conversation with Mrs. Carthew one afternoon, while they
paced slowly and regularly the gay path beside the sunny red wall of the
garden.

"Well, how do you like school now?" she asked. "Dear me, I must say
you're greatly improved," she went on. "Really, when you came here five
years ago, you were much too delicate-looking."

Michael kicked the gravel and tried to turn the trend of the
conversation by admiring the plums on the wall, but Mrs. Carthew went
on.

"Now you really look quite a boy. You and Alan both slouch abominably,
and I cannot think why boys always walk on one side of their boots. I
must say I do not like delicate boys. My own boy was always such a boy."
Mrs. Carthew sighed and Michael looked very solemn.

"Well, do you like school?" she asked.

"I like holidays better," answered Michael.

"I'm delighted to hear it," Mrs. Carthew said decidedly.

"I thought last year was beastly," said Michael. "You see I was a
boarder and that's rot, if you were a day-boy ever, at least I think so.
Alan and me are in the same form next term. We're going to have a most
frightful spree. We're going to do everything together. I expect school
won't be half bad then."

"Your mother's going to be at home, isn't she?" Mrs. Carthew enquired.

"Yes. Rather," said Michael. "It will be awfully rum. She's always away,
you know. I wonder why."

"I expect she likes travelling about," said Mrs. Carthew.

"Yes, I expect she does," Michael agreed. "But don't you think it's very
rum that I haven't got any uncles or aunts or any relations? I do. I
never meet people who say they knew my father like Alan does and like
Miss--like Mrs. Ross does. Once I went with