nquiry at the no longer obtrusive and pea-stick-throwing human, and then
lumbered heavily but swiftly out of the garden. Eshley packed up his
tools and followed the animal's example and "Larkdene" was left to
neuralgia and the cook.

The episode was the turning-point in Eshley's artistic career. His
remarkable picture, "Ox in a morning-room, late autumn," was one of the
sensations and successes of the next Paris Salon, and when it was
subsequently exhibited at Munich it was bought by the Bavarian
Government, in the teeth of the spirited bidding of three meat-extract
firms. From that moment his success was continuous and assured, and the
Royal Academy was thankful, two years later, to give a conspicuous
position on its walls to his large canvas "Barbary Apes Wrecking a
Boudoir."

Eshley presented Adela Pingsford with a new copy of "Israel Kalisch," and
a couple of finely flowering plants of _Madame Adnre Blusset_, but
nothing in the nature of a real reconciliation has taken place between
them.

THE STORY-TELLER

It was a hot afternoon, and the railway carriage was correspondingly
sultry, and the next stop was at Templecombe, nearly an hour ahead. The
occupants of the carriage were a small girl, and a smaller girl, and a
small boy. An aunt belonging to the children occupied one corner seat,
and the further corner seat on the opposite side was occupied by a
bachelor who was a stranger to their party, but the small girls and the
small boy emphatically occupied the compartment. Both the aunt and the
children were conversational in a limited, persistent way, reminding one
of the attentions of a housefly that refuses to be discouraged. Most of
the aunt's remarks seemed to begin with "Don't," and nearly all of the
children's remarks began with "Why?" The bachelor said nothing out loud.
"Don't, Cyril, don't," exclaimed the aunt, as the small boy began
smacking the cushions of the seat, producing a cloud of dust at each
blow.

"Come and look out of the window," she added.

The child moved reluctantly to the window. "Why are those sheep being
driven out of that field?" he asked.

"I expect they are being driven to another field where there is more
grass," said the aunt weakly.

"But there is lots of grass in that field," protested the boy; "there's
nothing else but grass there. Aunt, there's lots of grass in that
field."

"Perhaps the grass in the other field is better," suggested the aunt
fatuously.