he felt particularly fogged. For the life of him he could
not see what there was to amuse any one so much in the fact that
a person who owed five pounds was ready to pay it back. It was an
occasion for rejoicing, perhaps, but rather for a solemn, thankful,
eyes-raised-to-heaven kind of rejoicing.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Five pounds!"

"You might tell us the joke."

Mr. Barley opened the letter, read it, and had another attack; when
this was finished he handed the letter to Mike, who was waiting
patiently by, hoping for light, and requested him to read it.

"Dear, dear!" chuckled Mr. Barley, "five pounds! They may teach you
young gentlemen to talk Latin and Greek and what not at your school,
but it 'ud do a lot more good if they'd teach you how many beans make
five; it 'ud do a lot more good if they'd teach you to come in when it
rained, it 'ud do----"

Mike was reading the letter.

"DEAR MR. BARLEY," it ran.--"I send the L5, which I could not get
before. I hope it is in time, because I don't want you to write to
the headmaster. I am sorry Jane and John ate your wife's hat and
the chicken and broke the vase."

There was some more to the same effect; it was signed "T. G.
Jellicoe."

"What on earth's it all about?" said Mike, finishing this curious
document.

Mr. Barley slapped his leg. "Why, Mr. Jellicoe keeps two dogs here; I
keep 'em for him till the young gentlemen go home for their holidays.
Aberdeen terriers, they are, and as sharp as mustard. Mischief! I
believe you, but, love us! they don't do no harm! Bite up an old shoe
sometimes and such sort of things. The other day, last Wednesday it
were, about 'ar parse five, Jane--she's the worst of the two, always
up to it, she is--she got hold of my old hat and had it in bits before
you could say knife. John upset a china vase in one of the bedrooms
chasing a mouse, and they got on the coffee-room table and ate half a
cold chicken what had been left there. So I says to myself, 'I'll have
a game with Mr. Jellicoe over this,' and I sits down and writes off
saying the little dogs have eaten a valuable hat and a chicken and
what not, and the damage'll be five pounds, and will he kindly remit
same by Saturday night at the latest or I write to his headmaster.
Love us!" Mr. Barley slapped his thigh, "he took it all in, every
word--and here's the five pounds in cash in this envelope here! I
haven't had such a laugh since we got old Tom Raxley out of be