t it, there's a love."

The girl obligingly dropped her boots, and turning out the contents of a
cupboard, produced some faded blue bathing trunks.

To us they seemed shamelessly inadequate, but Simon appeared satisfied. Now
he hurried us to a summer-house occupied by a family of lop-eared rabbits,
and here we changed into the trunks. The Seraph required some help, and
when he was stripped, I could see his little heart pounding away at his
ribs, for, between the exertion of keeping up to us, and not quite
understanding why he was being undressed, he was very much wrought up.

"It's just fun," I reassured him. "Don't get funky."

"I'm not," he whispered, as I tied on his trunks, "but I fink it's a
dangerous enterpwise."

"Time's up," yelled Simon, "get into the game!"

We leaped from the summer-house to the grass, and, refreshing it was to our
bare soles. The first onslaught from the hose almost knocked my legs from
under me, and, indeed, throughout the game, Mops seemed to single me out
for special attention. We three had never in our lives given way to such an
abandon of wildness. The Seraph yelled till he was hoarse, and, when at
last Mops surrendered the hose to Simon, the orgy grew wilder still.

In the midst of it, a French window at the back of the house opened, and a
lady stood on the threshold.

My senses had received only a delicate impression of pink satin, golden
hair, and flashing rings, when Simon turned the hose, in full force, on the
step just below her, sending a shower of drops all about her. With a scream
she fled indoors, slamming the French window.

"You got her that time, all right," said Mops, grinning roguishly.

"Who is she?" I gasped.

"Oh, just mummy," replied Simon, nonchalantly.

The French window opened again. This time a young man in grey tweeds
appeared. I quite expected to see him greeted with a shower also, but Simon
respectfully lowered the hose.

"Did you turn that hose on your mother, Simon?" asked the young man
sternly.

"Just a little," answered Simon.

"Well, the next time you do it you'll get your jacket dusted, do you hear?"

"Yes, father."

The young man disappeared into the house, three of the wet dogs following
him.

"Isn't Lord Simon sweet?" asked Mops, with another roguish smile at me.

"Awfully," I replied politely, "but is the lady really your mother?"

"Let's feed," interrupted Simon, throwing down the hose, "I've a rare old
twist on."

I was sor