re was nothing to do until
six o'clock but enjoy oneself. Sometimes the boys made expeditions into
St. Corentin, where they wondered at the number of dogs to each
inhabitant and bought cakes and sweets at a pastrycook's and gas-filled
balloons which they sent up in the market-place. Or they would stroll
down to the quays and watch the shipping and practise their French on
sailors looking more like pirates than ordinary sailors.

Once, while Michael was gazing into a shop window at some dusty foreign
stamps in a brass tray, a Capuchin friar spoke to him in very good
English and asked if he collected stamps. Michael said that he did, and
the Capuchin invited him to come back to the convent and see his
collection. Michael thought this was a splendid invitation and willingly
accompanied the Capuchin whom, except for a sore on his lip, he liked
very much. He thought the inside of the convent was rather like the
inside of an aquarium, but he enjoyed the stamps very much. The friar
gave him about a dozen of his duplicates, and Michael promised to write
to him, when he got home, and to send him some of his own. Then they had
tea in the friar's cell, and afterwards Michael set out to walk back to
St. Antoine. It was not yet six o'clock when he reached the house, but
there was a terrible fuss being made about his adventure. Telegrams had
been despatched, the gendarmerie had been informed, and the British
Vice-consul had been interviewed. Mr. Vernon asked in his deepest voice
where the deuce he had been, and when Michael told him he had been
taking tea with a monk, Mr. Vernon was more angry than ever.

"Don't do things like that. Good heavens, boy, you might have been
kidnapped and turned into a Catholic, before you knew where you were.
Hang it all, remember I'm responsible for your safety and never again
get into conversation with a wandering monk."

Michael explained about the stamps, but Mr. Vernon said that was a very
pretty excuse, and would by no means hear of Michael visiting the
convent again. When Michael thought over this fuss, he could not
understand what it had all been about. He could not imagine anything
more harmless than this Capuchin friar with the sore on his lip.
However, he never did see him again, except once in the distance, when
he pointed him out to Mr. Vernon, who said he looked a dirty ruffian.
Michael discovered that grown-up people always saw danger where there
was no danger, but when, as on the occas