ith a large
moustache. He's very ugly too," said Pollyooly frankly.

"This grows more interesting still. I think I should enjoy looking
into this matter. Prussian barons always need a firm hand. But I'm
too full up with golf to deal with it for the next day or two. I must
bear it in mind."

Plainly he did bear it in mind, for on the afternoon of the third day,
to Pollyooly's delight, he joined them on the sands. She introduced
him to Mrs. Gibson; and he thanked her for having had his two little
cousins to tea, and chatted to her in his cheerful and engaging fashion
till Prince Adalbert of Lippe-Schweidnitz came slouching along on his
devastating course. The Honourable John Ruffin observed him with every
appearance of the liveliest interest; but the Baron von Habelschwert
seemed to afford him even greater pleasure than did his young charge;
and upon him he gazed with a fascinated, loving eye.

"I have rarely seen a more perfect pair," he said to Mrs. Gibson in a
tone of deep content.

"Detestable creatures!" said Mrs. Gibson with some heat.

"Perhaps--but how incomparably Prussian!" said the Honourable John
Ruffin with warm appreciation. "And you let these unpleasant ones
terrorise your children?"

"Well, what can I do?" said Mrs. Gibson. "My husband would have
stopped it, if he had been down here; but he isn't. I have spoken to
one or two men, acquaintances, about it. But they seem afraid to
interfere."

"We are getting too highly civilised," said the Honourable John Ruffin
in a melancholy tone. "The fine old English spirit is dying out; and
they're afraid of getting into the papers. But evidently what is
needed is the giving of lessons; and the proper person to give them is
a fierce small boy--Irish for choice--one who is always and nobly
spoiling for a fight. Unfortunately I have not a fierce small Irish
boy to hand; but, thank goodness! there are still red Deepings left in
England."

"What is a red Deeping?" said Mrs. Gibson.

"The red Deepings are an old East Anglian strain--red-haired and very
fierce and cantankerous when roused. My little cousin Pollyooly here
is a red Deeping."

"Oh, do you think she could cope with that horrid little boy?" said
Mrs. Gibson eagerly.

"I'm sure of it," said the Honourable John Ruffin with decision. "Come
here, Pollyooly."

Pollyooly came; and he felt her biceps carefully. Then he said:

"Didn't Mr. Vance tell me a story of a boy called Henry Wigg