bout
my umbrella. The fact is I have found it at my rooms, and I am forced to
the conclusion that I never took it with me to Dockington at all. I am
awfully sorry to have given you all this trouble. It shall be a lesson to
me never to take my umbrella anywhere, or rather never to think I've taken
it, when, as a matter of fact, I haven't.

Yours always sincerely,
ARTHUR VIVIAN.

No. V.

_Telegram from Mrs. Morton to Arthur Vivian._

Too late. Sent off somebody's umbrella to you yesterday.
Please return it to me.

No. VI.

_From Mrs. Morton to her Sister, Lady Compton._

... We had a few friends at Dockington last week, not a real party, but
just a few old shoes--Tom, Arthur Vivian and the Dean of Marchester and
Mrs. Dean. Since they went away I've had the most awful time with their
umbrellas. They all took away with them the wrong ones, and then wrote to
me to send them their right ones. Arthur Vivian never brought one, and
whose he took away I can't say. In fact I've been exposed to an avalanche
of returning umbrellas, and Parkins has spent all his time in doing up the
absurd things and posting them. He has just celebrated his seventieth
birthday, and these umbrellas have ruined what's left of his temper.
Umbrellas still keep pouring in, and nobody ever seems by any chance to get
the right one. It's the most discouraging thing I've ever been involved in.
As far as I can make out the Dean's umbrella is now in the trenches with
Tom. If ever I have a party at Dockington again I shall write, "No
umbrellas by request," on the invitations.

* * * * *

THE INN O' THE SWORD.

A SONG OF YOUTH AND WAR.

Roving along the King's highway
I met wi' a Romany black.
"Good day," says I; says he, "Good day,
And what may you have in your pack?"
"Why, a shirt," says I, "and a song or two
To make the road go faster."
He laughed: "Ye'll find or the day be through
There's more nor that, young master.
Oh, roving's good and youth is sweet
And love is its own reward;
But there's that shall stay your careless feet
When ye come to the Sign o' the Sword."

"Riddle me, riddlemaree," quoth I,
"Is a game that's ill to win,
And the day is o'er fair such tasks to try"--
Said he, "Ye shall know at the inn."
With that he suited his path to mine
And we travelled merrily,
Till I was ware of the promised sign
And the d