zed
house, with a heavy thatched roof that overhung the walls like the crown
of a mushroom. The walls were only mud, and the thatching was nothing
else than banana leaves; but there was evidence of European taste in the
garden surrounding the structure, and in the glazed windows and wooden
door.

As they approached the open doorway three little children, clad in very
little more than their native modesty, ran gleefully out, and proceeded
to engage seats on Jack Meredith's boots, looking upon him as a mere
public conveyance. They took hardly any notice of him, but chattered and
quarrelled among themselves, sometimes in baby English, sometimes in a
dialect unknown to Oscard and Meredith.

"These," said the latter, when they were seated, and clinging with their
little dusky arms round his legs, "are the very rummest little kids I
ever came across."

Durnovo gave an impatient laugh, and went on towards the house. But Guy
Oscard stopped, and walked more slowly beside Meredith as he laboured
along heavy footed.

"They are the jolliest little souls imaginable," continued Jack
Meredith. "There," he said to them when they had reached the doorstep,
"run away to your mother--very fine ride--no! no more to-night! I'm
aweary--you understand--aweary!"

"Aweary--awe-e-e-ary!" repeated the little things, standing before him
in infantile nude rotundity, looking up with bright eyes.

"Aweary--that is it. Good night, Epaminondas--good night, Xantippe! Give
ye good hap, most stout Nestorius!"

He stooped and gravely shook hands with each one in turn, and, after
forcing a like ceremonial upon Guy Oscard, they reluctantly withdrew.

"They have not joined us, I suppose?" said Oscard, as he followed his
companion into the house.

"Not yet. They live in this place. Nestorius, I understand, takes care
of his mother, who, in her turn, takes care of this house. He is one and
a half."

Guy Oscard seemed to have inherited the mind inquisitive from his
learned father. He asked another question later on.

"Who is that woman?" he said during dinner, with a little nod towards
the doorway, through which the object of his curiosity had passed with
some plates.

"That is the mother of the stout Nestorius," answered Jack--"Durnovo's
housekeeper."

He spoke quietly, looking straight in front of him; and Joseph, who was
drawing a cork at the back of the room, was watching his face.

There was a little pause, during which Durnovo drank slowl