dle of the lawn and wept; I felt quite
sorry for her, but the other three were really an intolerable nuisance.
Tom Harrison declared it was worth two pounds any day, that Susan's
beauty was spoilt, and that everybody would say they had been fighting
already. I smiled when he said "already," and for a moment I thought
he was going to hit me. He thought better of it, however, and I
concluded that if he had intended to fight he would have begun then, so
I turned my back upon him and looked at the window up-stairs. There
was not a sound coming from the room, and as I turned again to attend
to Harrison I heard hoots of laughter, and a dog-cart passed along the
road which skirted the garden. As it went by I saw Jack Ward stand up
on the back of the cart and look over the hedge. When he saw what was
happening he leant forward to speak to Bunny Langham, who was driving,
and as they passed out of sight I thought that he was trying to get
hold of the reins.

The men went on talking; Susan wept steadily, and Bella said her arm
was visibly swelling, and that she must have been hit by something far
more dangerous than a pea. They were not by any means interesting and
I was glad to see the landlord coming from the house to join us. He
created the diversion of which we were badly in need, and Tom Harrison
became more eloquent than ever. But the landlord, as soon as he could
make himself heard, was most thoroughly on the side of peace; he
flourished his arms and declared, until I was weary, that a mistake had
been made. "These are not the gentlemen who shot at you. Do they look
like gentlemen who would use pea-shooters?" I did not know what a man
ought to look like who would not use a peashooter, but I did my best.

"These are two nice quiet gentlemen," he went on; "took their food
quite quiet."

"And haven't paid for it yet," I interrupted; "how much is it?"

"That will be a matter of half-a-crown each," he said, and I paid him.

In the meantime Bella, who ought to have been watched, had walked into
our sitting-room and found the visitors' book. She returned
triumphantly. "I know one of their names, and that will be a deal more
use than standing jawing here," she shouted.

I looked at Foster inquiringly. "I bought a blessed fountain pen
yesterday and wanted to see if the thing would work," he explained; "it
seems to have worked too well."

"'F. L. Foster, Oriel College, Oxford,' in writing as easy to read as
the