ard. There are
three tombstones. On one is written, 'Mr. Paul Wharncliffe.'"

The story was no better than the productions of most eight-year-old
children, the written story at least. But, curiously enough, it proved
to be the germ of the celebrated romance, 'At Strife,' which Derrick
wrote in after years; and he himself maintains that his picture of life
during the Civil War would have been much less graphic had he not lived
so much in the past during his various visits to Mondisfield.

It was at his second visit, when we were nine, that I remember his
announcing his intention of being an author when he was grown up. My
mother still delights in telling the story. She was sitting at work in
the south parlour one day, when I dashed into the room calling out:

"Derrick's head is stuck between the banisters in the gallery; come
quick, mother, come quick!"

She ran up the little winding staircase, and there, sure enough, in
the musician's gallery, was poor Derrick, his manuscript and pen on the
floor and his head in durance vile.

"You silly boy!" said my mother, a little frightened when she found that
to get the head back was no easy matter, "What made you put it through?"

"You look like King Charles at Carisbrooke," I cried, forgetting how
much Derrick would resent the speech.

And being released at that moment he took me by the shoulders and gave
me an angry shake or two, as he said vehemently, "I'm not like King
Charles! King Charles was a liar."

I saw my mother smile a little as she separated us.

"Come, boys, don't quarrel," she said. "And Derrick will tell me the
truth, for indeed I am curious to know why he thrust his head in such a
place."

"I wanted to make sure," said Derrick, "whether Paul Wharncliffe could
see Lady Lettice, when she took the falcon on her wrist below in the
passage. I mustn't say he saw her if it's impossible, you know. Authors
have to be quite true in little things, and I mean to be an author."

"But," said my mother, laughing at the great earnestness of the hazel
eyes, "could not your hero look over the top of the rail?"

"Well, yes," said Derrick. "He would have done that, but you see it's
so dreadfully high and I couldn't get up. But I tell you what, Mrs.
Wharncliffe, if it wouldn't be giving you a great deal of trouble--I'm
sorry you were troubled to get my head back again--but if you would
just look over, since you are so tall, and I'll run down and act Lady
Lettice."

"