more of a vestibule. Mrs Bray
hove into near view and took up a seat beside a bank of lovely
maiden-hair fern.

"How are you living?" she asked Grandma Clay as she complacently shook
hands. "Nice cool weather now and not so many beastly mosquitoes."

"By Jove! Did you know about the 'skeeters' here?" inquired Andrew of
me. "They're big enough to ride bikes and weigh a pound. You wait till
you hear 'em singing Sankey's hymns to-night."

"If I were you I'd hold my tongue and not draw attention to my
dirtiness," said Dawn. "It's a wonder a garden doesn't sprout upon
you."

I was then introduced to Mrs Bray, who acknowledged me genially, and
seemed so flourishing, and was so complacent regarding the fact, that
it did one good to look at her.

After addressing a few remarks to me she had to move, for the trimming
of her hat caught in the cage of a parakeet, and she took another seat
in the shelter of a tree-fern near Uncle Jake.

"You have some lovely pet birds," I remarked by way of making myself
agreeable to Grandma Clay.

"The infernal old nuisances!" she said irascibly, "I wish they'd die.
Andrew calls them his, but they'd starve only for me. I'm always
saying I'll have no more pets, and still they're brought here. Some
day when he has a home of his own and people plague him, he'll know
what it is."

On the other side of the verandah above Uncle Jake stretched a passion
vine, where a thick row of belated fruit hung like pretty pale-green
eggs, and evil entering Andrew's mind, he remarked to me--

"Wouldn't it be just bosker if one of them fell on his old nut," and
going out he returned with a pair of orange clippers.

"Where's Carry got to?" asked grandma.

"I saw her out there doing a mash with Larry Witcom," said Andrew.

"Now, do you think there'll be anything in that?" interestedly asked
Mrs Bray. "I suppose she'd be glad to ketch anything for a home of her
own."

"Well, it's to be hoped the home she'd catch with him would be better
than some of the meat we've caught from him lately--it was as tough as
old boots," put in Dawn.

At this point Andrew succeeded in disturbing Uncle Jake--succeeded
beyond expectation. Uncle Jake had just sucked his fuzzy 'possum-grey
moustache in the noisy manner peculiar to him, and was raising his tea
again, when he was struck by the passion fruit, causing him to let
fall the cup.

"Just like you! On the clean boards! Carry will be pleased. I'm glad
it's not my week