at his dog. "Come,
Papillon, come; we must be getting on, it is late. _Petit chien jaune,
petit chien jaune._"

The dog trotting discreetly at the end of the taut lead, the old man
slouched up the road, brandishing his violin aimlessly and talking aloud
as he went.

"I ask myself," said the little Norman, "how he _knew_."

Then, for he was no longer in haste, he stepped into his green sabots
and started homeward, biting into the apple that had listened.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

The Earl of Kingsmead lay flat on his stomach on the warm, short grass
by the carp-pond, and studied therein the ponderous manoeuvres of an
ancient fish, believed by the people thereabouts to be something over
two hundred years old. Carp had a great charm for Lord Kingsmead; so had
electricity; so had toads; so had buns, and stable-boys, and pianolas,
and armour, and curates, and chocolates.

Everything was full of interest to this interesting nobleman, and the
most beautiful part of it was that there was beyond Kingsmead and the
very restricted area of London that he had hitherto been allowed to
investigate, a whole world full of things strange, undreamed-of,
delightful, and, best of all, dangerous, to the study of which he meant
to dedicate every second of the time that spread between that moment as
he lay on the grass and the horrid hour when he should be carried to the
family vault surrounded by sobbing relations.

For Tommy Kingsmead was one of those most unusual persons who understand
the value of life as it dribbles through their fingers in seconds,
instead of, like most people, losing the vibrant present in a useless
(because invariably miscalculated) study of the future.

This morning he had devoted to a keen investigation of several matters
of palpitating interest.

Had Fledge, the butler, who had apparently been at Kingsmead since the
beginning of the world, any teeth, or did his flexible, long lips hide
only gums? Until that day the problem had never suggested itself to
Fledge's master, but when it did, it roused in him a passion of
curiosity that had to be satisfied, after the failure of a series of
diplomatic attempts by the putting of a plain question.

"I say, Fledge."

"My lord?"

"--You never _do_ really open your mouth, you know--except, I suppose,
when you eat----"

"Yes, my lord."

"You just, well--fumble with your lips. So--I say, Fledge, _have_ you
any teeth?"

And Fledge, possibly becaus