out
from England they'd get married in the first week."

Edmund reappears for dinner, followed by three other young men dressed
precisely alike. They sit down in a lump at one end of the wooden table
and solidly consume immense helpings of boiled beef and dumpling, which
Mrs. Humphrey carries in, disdaining any help. When we have finished she
smilingly produces half a dozen jam tartlets from a cupboard.

"I made them for you," she says, looking at you. "I'm proud of my
pastry, but I had to hide them, for Edmund and his father have an awful
sweet tooth, and if I'd put them out there wouldn't have been one
left."

There are gurgles and nudges from the lower end of the table, and I see
you grow scarlet as the plate of tartlets is solemnly put in front of
you. I'll help you out. I have a "sweet tooth" too, and the toddler will
do his best, as he has one bestowed on him by his mother.

There is a crash in the little scullery opening off the room we are in,
and as the mistress of the house jumps up with an exclamation the round
moon-face of an Indian woman appears for a moment in the doorway.

It seems she has upset the coffee which she was going to bring in. Some
of it is saved from the wreck, though the "boys" have to go without. As
they file past, back to their work, Edmund follows last and snatches a
tartlet while his mother's back is turned, winking at you as he does it.
Mr. Humphrey immediately bolts another rather guiltily, so one, looking
very small, is left alone in the plate.

I'm afraid Mrs. Humphrey thinks we have gobbled them up!

This room has nothing to hide the bare wooden walls except a few
pictures from illustrated papers and a photo or two pinned up. The great
stove is a very ugly thing, and its pipe goes out through the roof. Our
room, which opens off on the same floor, is the merest slip of a place,
with hardly room for the couple of camp-beds side by side. From the
photos I guess it is Edmund's room, and that he has gone off to sleep
with the men in their quarters near the barn meantime. We have the
luxury of an enamel basin on a tripod, but, as Mr. Humphrey explains,
it's much easier to get a wash down with a bucket outside.

While we sit on the verandah he explains that he has three other
children now at school; they will be back presently, and almost as he
speaks a waggonette with a roof over it appears in the distance, and
soon three rosy-faced girls, aged about seven, nine, and eleven, tumb