nto the hammock. She
brought a book with her this time instead of her manuscript. The
afternoon was hotter than the morning had been, and there was a very
soothing sound of bees among the branches of the trees. Miss King, who
had eaten her luncheon with a good appetite, went to sleep. The two
gardeners, after a short consultation, sat down under a tree and
smoked. At half-past three Meldon arrived.

"You seem," he said to the men, "to be taking things pretty easy. Are
you supposed to be mowing that lawn, or is Mr. Simpkins paying you to
cut the legs off any tiger or other wild beast that comes up with the
idea of devouring Miss King in her sleep?"

The men grinned pleasantly, and put their pipes in their pockets.

"It's how we didn't like to be disturbing the young lady," said the
elder of the two men, "and her lying there quiet and innocent, maybe
tired out, the creature, with the way she's been travelling to and fro."

"Isn't it Callaghan your name is?" said Meldon.

"It is. Glory be to God! but it's wonderful the way you'd know me, Mr.
Meldon, and you out of the place these three years."

"Send that other man away," said Meldon, "and listen to me while I
speak to you."

"Mickey," said Callaghan to his fellow-labourer, "let you be off with
you and get the potatoes earthed up beyond in the garden. It's
wonderful, so it is, the way you'd take a delight in sitting there all
day and not doing a hand's turn."

Mickey went off, still grinning. He had no intention of earthing up
the potatoes. Digging is hard work, not to be lightly undertaken on a
hot afternoon. Meldon watched him out of sight, and then turned to
Callaghan.

"I'm speaking confidentially to you," he said, "and I hope that nothing
I say will--"

"Take care," said Callaghan, "that you wouldn't wake herself, talking
so loud and all."

Meldon looked at Miss King.

"She seems pretty sound," he said, speaking more softly.

"It's tired she is, the creature,", said Callaghan. "It would be a
shame to wake her, though I wouldn't care myself for the notion of
sleeping in one of them new-fashioned beds."

"What I want to say to you is this," said Meldon. "You know Mr.
Simpkins, of course?"

"I do."

"Is he a particular friend of yours?"

"He is not," said Callaghan. "The Lord forgive me for saying the like!
but I hate him worse than I do the devil."

"I thought you probably would," said Meldon, "and I don't wonder at it.
Any man who