mptly made for the seat beside the driver, explaining that I
wanted to see the speedometer burst. Sister does a good many things,
and does most of them well; but her particular accomplishment is
her motor-driving. After my experiences in different cars at the
Front--especially those driven by Frenchmen--I thought at first that
motoring had no new thrills to offer me; but when Sister takes corners
I still clutch at anything handy.

Surrey began to stream past us. The landscape was extremely beautiful,
but only the more distant parts of it were visible except as a mere
blur. After five or six miles we turned into a long straight stretch
of road.

"The Hepworths live somewhere along this," said Sister. "There's a
lovely sunken garden just in front of the house which I want you to
notice. Hallo! here we are; I thought it was further on."

The car whizzed round and through a drive gateway half hidden in
trees. When I opened my eyes again I looked for the sunken garden; but
except for a few very prim-looking flower-beds the grounds in front of
the house consisted entirely of a lawn, round which the drive took a
broad circular sweep.

"It must be the wrong house," said Sister, and without pausing an
instant in our centrifugal career we rushed round the complete circle
and disappeared through the gate as suddenly as we had come. As we
passed the house I had a fleeting glimpse of an old, hard-featured and
furious female face glaring at us from one of the windows.

On the road we stopped the car so as to regain some measure of gravity
before presenting ourselves at our real destination--next house--but
were still rather hysterical when we arrived.

"You'll hear more of this," said our hostess, when we had reported our
raid. "Old Miss Mendip lives there--a regular tartar; all kinds of
views; writes to the papers."

* * * * *

In a subsequent issue of the local weekly we found the following:--

_To the Editor of "The Inshot Times, Great and Little
Budford Chronicle and Home Counties Advertiser_."

SIR,--Even in _war-time_, when one cannot call our souls our own,
we may surely expect the privacy of individuals and the rights of
property to receive _some_ respect. An Englishman's home is still
his castle, though the debased morals and decayed manners of modern
_Society_ (?) seem to blind its members to the fact.

I wish to give publicity in your pages to a disgraceful _outrage_
of