he admitted. "But I haven't the heart to
disturb them all now--and, frankly, I'm too thankful. If you'll let
me pay you rent----"

"Certainly not!" said Mr. Linton, looking astonished and indignant.
"We don't run our place on those lines. Just put it out of your head
that we have anything to do with it. You're taking nothing from
us--only from a man who died very cheerfully because he was able to do
five minutes' work towards helping the War. He's helping it still if
his money makes it easier for fellows like you; and I believe,
wherever he is, he knows and is glad."

"But there are others who may need it more," said Hunt weakly.

"If there are, I haven't met them yet," Mr. Linton responded. He
glanced out of the window. "Look there now, Hunt!"

Norah had slipped away, leaving the men to talk. Now she came riding
up the broad gravel path across the lawn, on the black pony: leading
the fat Welsh pony, with Geoffrey on his back. The small boy sat very
straight, with his hands well down. His flushed little face sought
anxiously for his father's at the window.

Major Hunt uttered a delighted exclamation.

"I didn't know my urchin was so advanced," he said. "Well done, old
son!" He scanned him keenly. "He doesn't sit too badly, Mr. Linton."

"He's not likely to do so, with Norah as his teacher. But Norah says
he doesn't need much teaching, and that he has naturally good hands.
She's proud of him. I think," said Mr. Linton, laughing, "that they
have visions of hunting together this winter!"

"I must go out and see him," said the father, catching up his cap.
Mr. Linton watched him cross the lawn with quick strides: and turned,
to find Mrs. Hunt at his elbow.

"Well--he doesn't look much like an invalid, Madam!" he said, smiling.

"He's not like the same man," she said, with grateful eyes. "He slept
well, and ate a huge breakfast: even the hand is less painful. And
he's so cheery. Oh, I'm so thankful to you for kidnapping us!"

"Indeed, it's you that we have to thank," he told her. "You gave us
our first chance of beginning our job."

CHAPTER VIII

ASSORTED GUESTS

"I beg your pardon--is this Homewood?"

Norah, practising long putts at a hole on the far side of the terrace,
turned with a start. The questioner was in uniform, bearing a
captain's three stars. He was a short, strongly-built young man, with
a square, determined face.

"Yes, this is Homewood," she answered. "Did you