t," she confessed. "One's supposed to
like them . . . they're good things, surely?"

"Institutions must be judged by their actual utility; their adaptability
to present needs. Traditional benefits can no longer be accepted as a
reason for the support of any particular cause."

"I think," she said, "that the mud on your clothes is drying. It will
probably brush off quite nicely."

Had he ever read _Alice in Wonderland_ he might have remembered what
preceded the Caucus Race. But he never had, so he merely thought that
she was singularly frivolous and irrelevant.

"You haven't told me your name," she continued, "so that I can look for
that speech. We're nearly home, and I'll hand you over to Heaven so that
he can make you tidy for your call."

"My name is E. A. Gallup," he replied, shortly.

"Up or op?" she asked.

"Up," he replied, wishing to heaven it weren't.

"Mine's M. B. Ffolliot, two 'fs' and two 'ls'. We live here, you know."

"I guessed you were a Miss Ffolliot. In fact, I may say I knew it."

"Everyone knows us about here," she said sadly. "That's the worst of it.
You can never get out of anything you've done."

E. A. Gallup looked surprised, but as she was again gazing into space she
did not observe him.

"Whenever hay's trampled, or pheasants startled, or gates left open, or
pigs chased, or turkeys furious, they always say, 'It's them varmints of
young Ffolliots.'"

"Do you know," he said, and his grave face suddenly broke into a most
boyish grin, "I believe even I have heard something of the kind."

"If you live anywhere within six miles of Redmarley you'll hear little
else, and it isn't always us . . . though it is generally. This stupid
gate's locked. We'll have to get over. It's easiest to do it like this."

"This" was to go back a few paces, run forward, put her hands on the top
and vault the gate as a boy vaults a "gym" horse. E. A. Gallup did not
attempt to follow suit. He climbed over, clumsily enough, dropping his
stick on the wrong side. When he had recovered it, he raised his muddy
hat with a sweep. "I see we are in a road of some sort, perhaps you will
kindly direct me to the village, and I will not trouble . . . er . . . Mr
Heaven----"

"But much the nearest way to the village is down our front drive. And we
pass the stables to go to it."

"I couldn't think of intruding in your drive. Have the goodness to
direct me."

"But the woods are ours just as much as th