suzerain and the steep glen
down which it had flung itself. Not only had young Mr. Coppinger been
so gracious as to provide this setting for the revel, but he was even
now sacrificing a spotless pair of white flannel trousers to the needs
of the company, and had concentrated on the cajolery of the fire,
which, obedient to the etiquette that rules picnic fires, refused to
consume any fuel less stimulating than matches. Other of the young
gentlemen of the party, including the half-twin, Mr. George
Talbot-Lowry (now a sub-lieut. R.N.) were detailed to gather sticks, a
duty that was so arranged as to involve, with each load of firewood,
the jumping of the vassal-stream, and thus gave opportunity for a
display akin to that of the jungle-cocks, who, naturalists inform us,
leap emulatively before their ladies. Prominent among these was that
youth who, as a medical student, had inspired Miss Mangan in
flapperhood, with an admiration for his gifts, intellectual and
physical, that was only equalled by his own appreciation of these
advantages. His opinion remained unchanged, but he was beginning to
fear that Tishy's taste was deteriorating. None sprang more lightly
across that little stream, or commented more humorously on men and
things, than Captain Edward Cloherty, R.A.M.C.; yet Miss Mangan, to
whom these exercises were dedicated, remained oblivious of them and
aloof, apparently wholly absorbed by Martha-like attentions with
regard to the public welfare, and particularly those connected with
the fire. It was not for nothing that Tishy had had to rise early on
many a winter morning to see that her father should go forth to his
work suitably warmed and fed. Now, with scathing criticisms of the
methods of Mr. Coppinger, she swept him from his position as stoker,
and, as by magic, or so it seemed to him, the sticks blazed, the
kettle began to sing. Miss Mangan's skill was not limited to the
prosaic lighting of material fires only. With the two most
distinguished young men of the party at her feet, she rose to the
height of all her various powers. The fire roared and crackled, the
kettle bubbled, and Tishy's grey and gleaming glances through the
smoke were like a succession of boxes of matches, cast upon the
responsive fires of Larry's and Georgy's holiday hearts.

The young May moon has often been a factor in affairs of the heart
whose importance cannot be ignored. It is true that on this especial
afternoon the mischief might seem