usy of the gods. It is
notoriously the mountain top, the monarch oak that attracts the
lightning. Impossible to think of Hansombody attracting the
lightning, with his bedside manner!

The Major seated himself in his favourite chair on the terrace,
spread his napkin over his knees and mused, while Scipio set out the
decanters and glasses.

His gaze, travelling over the low parapet of the quay-wall, rested on
the quiet harbour, the ships swinging slowly with the tide, the
farther shore touched with the sunset glory. Evensong, the close of
day, the end of deeds, the twilit passing of man--all these the
scene, the hour suggested. And yet (the Major poured out a glass of
the green-sealed Madeira) this life was good and desirable.

The Major's garden (as I have said) was a narrow one, in width about
half the depth of his house, terminating in the "Terrace" and a
narrow quay-door, whence a ladder led down to the water. Alongside
this garden ran the rear wall of the Custom House, which abutted over
the water, also with a ladder reaching down to the foreshore, and not
five yards from the Mayor's. On the street side one window of the
Custom House raked the Mayor's porch; in the rear another and smaller
window overlooked his garden, and this might have been a nuisance had
the Collector of Customs, Mr. Pennefather, been a less considerate
neighbour. But no one minded Mr. Pennefather, a little, round,
self-depreciating official who, before coming to Troy, had served as
clerk in the Custom House at Penzance, and so, as you might say, had
learnt his business in a capital school: for the good feeling between
the Customs officials and the free-traders of Mount's Bay, and the
etiquette observed in their encounters, were a by-word throughout the
Duchy.

The Major, glancing up as he sipped his Madeira and catching sight of
Mr. Pennefather at his window, nodded affably.

"Ah! Good evening, Mr. Collector!"

"Good evening, Major! You'll excuse my seeming rudeness in
overlooking you. To tell the truth, I had just closed my books, and
the sight of your tulips--"

"A fair show this year--eh?" The Major took pride in his tulips.

"Magnificent! I was wondering how you will manage when the bulbs
deteriorate; for, of course, there's no renewing them from Holland,
nor any prospect of it while this war lasts."

The Major sipped his wine. "Between ourselves, Mr. Collector, I have
heard that forbidden goods find their way into thi