up and do something. And of course, in any
case, you can always dissect one and see what he's had for breakfast. One
way and another you get to know things about them."

"They must have a lot of time for thinking," said Celia, regarding my
limpet with her head on one side. "Tell me, how do they know that there
are no men in Mars?"

I sat up with a sigh.

"Celia, you do dodge about so. I have barely brought together and
classified my array of facts about things in this world, when you've
dashed up to another one. What is the connexion between Mars and limpets?
If there are any limpets in Mars they are freshwater ones. In the
canals."

"Oh, I just wondered," she said. "I mean"--she wrinkled her forehead in
the effort to find words for her thoughts--"I'm wondering what everything
means, and why we're all here, and what limpets are for, and, supposing
there are people in Mars, if we're the real people whom the world was
made for, or if _they_ are." She stopped and added, "One evening after
dinner, when we get home, you must tell me all about _everything_"

Celia has a beautiful idea that I can explain everything to her. I
suppose I must have explained a stymie or a no-ball very cleverly once.

"Well," I said, "I can tell you what limpets are for now. They're like
sheep and cows and horses and pheasants and--and any other animal.
They're just for _us_. At least so the wise people say."

"But we don't eat limpets."

"No, but they can amuse us. This one"--and with a sudden leap I was
behind him as he dozed, and I had dashed him forward another eighteenth
of a millimetre--"this one has amused _me_."

"Perhaps," said Celia thoughtfully, and I don't think it was quite a nice
thing for a young woman to say, "perhaps we're only meant to amuse the
people in Mars."

"Then," I said lazily, "let's hope that they _are_ amused."

* * * * *

Ten days later the Great War began. Celia said no more on the subject,
but she used to look at me curiously sometimes, and I fear that the
problem of life left her more puzzled than ever. At the risk of betraying
myself to her as "quite an ordinary person after all" I confess that
there are times when it leaves me puzzled too.

IV. WAR-TIME

O.B.E.

I know a Captain of Industry,
Who made big bombs for the R.F.C.,
And collared a lot of L s. d.--
And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E.

I know a Lady of Pedigree,
Who asked some soldiers out t