ute at the Vicarage this
afternoon. I couldn't separate 'em, so I just joined in. We'd have been
at it now if we had been left to our own devices." He broke into his
sudden boyish laugh. "But a kind lady came out of the Vicarage garden and
flung the contents of a bedroom jug over the three of us. Rather plucky
of her, what? I'm afraid I wasn't over-complimentary at the moment, but
I've had time since to appreciate her tact and presence of mind. I'm
going over to thank her to-morrow."

"Who was it?" growled Sir Beverley suspiciously. "Not that little white
owl, Mrs. Lorimer?"

"Mrs. Lorimer! Great Scott, no! She'd have squealed and run to the
Reverend Stephen for protection. No, this was a woman, not an owl. Her
name is Denys--Mrs. Denys she was careful to inform me. They've started a
mother's help at the Vicarage. None too soon I should say. Who wouldn't
be a mother's help in that establishment?"

Sir Beverley uttered a dry laugh. "Daresay she knows how to feather her
own nest. Most of 'em do."

"She knows how to keep her head in an emergency, anyhow," remarked Piers.

"Feline instinct," jeered Sir Beverley.

Piers looked across with a laugh in his dark eyes. "And feline pluck,
sir," he maintained.

Sir Beverley scowled at him. He could never brook an argument. "Oh, get
away, Piers!" he said. "You talk like a fool."

Piers turned his whole attention to devouring crumpets, and there fell a
lengthy silence. He rose finally to set down his empty plate and help
himself to some more tea.

"That stuff is poisonous by now," said Sir Beverley.

"It won't poison me," said Piers.

He drank it, and returned to the hearth-rug. "I suppose I may smoke?" he
said, with a touch of restraint.

Sir Beverley was lying back in his chair, gazing straight up at him.
Suddenly he reached out a trembling hand.

"You're a good boy, Piers," he said. "You may do any damn thing you
like."

Piers' eyes kindled in swift response. He gripped the extended
hand. "You're a brick, sir!" he said. "Look here! Come along to
the billiard-room and have a hundred up! It'll give you an
appetite for dinner."

He hoisted the old man out of his chair before he could begin to protest.
They stood together before the great fire, and Sir Beverley straightened
his stiff limbs. He was half a head taller than his grandson.

"What a fellow it is!" he said half laughing. "Why can't you sit still
and be quiet? Don't you want to read the paper? I've done w