ed his spade as he made out a girl's head
surmounted by a large hat. The light was getting dim, but the hat had an
odd appearance of familiarity. A stealthy glance in the other direction
showed him the figure of Mrs. Chalk standing to attention just inside the
open French windows of the drawing-room.

[Illustration: "He made out a girl's head surmounted by a large hat."]

The whistle came again, slightly increased in volume. Mr. Chalk, pausing
merely to wipe his brow, which had suddenly become very damp, bent to his
work with renewed vigour. It is an old idea that whistling aids manual
labour; Mr. Chalk, moistening his lips with a tongue grown all too
feverish for the task, began to whistle a popular air with much
liveliness.

The idea was ingenious, but hopeless from the start. The whistle at the
end of the garden became piercing in its endeavour to attract attention,
and, what was worse, developed an odd note of entreaty. Mr. Chalk, pale
with apprehension, could bear no more.

"Well, I think I've done enough for one night," he observed, cheerfully
and loudly, as he thrust his spade into the ground and took his coat from
a neighbouring bush.

He turned to go indoors and, knowing his wife's objection to dirty boots,
made for the door near the kitchen. As he passed the drawing-room
window, however, a low but imperative voice pronounced his name.

"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Chalk.

"There's a friend of yours whistling for you," said his wife, with forced
calmness.

"Whistling?" said Mr. Chalk, with as much surprise as a man could assume
in face of the noise from the bottom of the garden.

"Do you mean to tell me you can't hear it?" demanded his wife, in a
choking voice.

Mr. Chalk lost his presence of mind. "I thought it was a bird," he said,
assuming a listening attitude.

"_Bird?_" gasped the indignant Mrs. Chalk. "Look down there. Do you
call that a bird?"

Mr. Chalk looked and uttered a little cry of astonishment.

"I suppose she wants to see one of the servants," he said, at last; "but
why doesn't she go round to the side entrance? I shall have to speak to
them about it."

Mrs. Chalk drew herself up and eyed him with superb disdain.

"Go down and speak to her," she commanded.

"Certainly not," said Mr. Chalk, braving her, although his voice
trembled.

"Why not?"

"Because if I did you would ask me what she said, and when I told you you
wouldn't believe me," said Mr. Chalk.

"You--yo