o say that you didn't send Bill in to get you some beer?"
said his daughter.

"Certainly not," said Mr. Vickers, with great indignation. "I shouldn't
think of such a thing."

"I shouldn't get it if 'e did," said Mr. Russell, virtuously.

"Whose beer is it, then?" said Selina.

"Why, Bill's, I s'pose; how should I know?" replied Mr. Vickers.

"Yes, it's mine," said Mr. Russell.

"Drink it up, then," commanded Miss Vickers, sternly.

Both men started, and then Mr. Russell, bestowing a look of infinite
compassion upon his unfortunate friend, raised the mug obediently to his
sensitive lips. Always a kind-hearted man, he was glad when the gradual
tilting necessary to the occasion had blotted out the picture of
indignation which raged helplessly before him.

"I 'ope you're satisfied now," he said severely to the girl, as he turned
a triumphant glance on Mr. Vickers, which that gentleman met with a cold
stare.

Miss Vickers paid no heed. "You get off home," she said to her father;
"I'll see to the Horse and Groom to-morrow."

Mr. Vickers muttered something under his breath, and then, with a forlorn
attempt at dignity, departed.

Miss Vickers, ignoring the remarks of one or two fathers of families who
were volunteering information as to what they would do if she were their
daughter, watched him out of sight and resumed her walk. She turned once
or twice as though to make sure that she was not observed, and then,
making her way in the direction of Mr. Chalk's house, approached it
cautiously from the back.

Mr. Chalk, who was in the garden engaged in the useful and healthful
occupation of digging, became aware after a time of a low whistle
proceeding from the farther end. He glanced almost mechanically in that
direction, and then nearly dropped his spade as he made out a girl's head
surmounted by a large hat. The light was getting dim, but the hat had an
odd appearance of familiarity. A stealthy glance in the other direction
showed him the figure of Mrs. Chalk standing to attention just inside the
open French windows of the drawing-room.

[Illustration: "He made out a girl's head surmounted by a large hat."]

The whistle came again, slightly increased in volume. Mr. Chalk, pausing
merely to wipe his brow, which had suddenly become very damp, bent to his
work with renewed vigour. It is an old idea that whistling aids manual
labour; Mr. Chalk, moistening his lips with a tongue grown all too
feverish for