raudings along the border, whose white inhabitants were, for the
nonce, content.

"It's Kenrick who has brought us luck," declared Iris, with a decisive
nod of her pretty head, as we were metaphorically rubbing our hands over
the existing state of things. "I've read somewhere that it's always
lucky to pick up a waif and stray."

We shouted at this. Then Brian said--

"I rather think it was the waif and stray who picked you up, _kleintje_!
What price swimming too far out, and the sharks, eh?"

"_Nouw ja_, that's true," she conceded. "But you see, he was bringing
us luck even then. You couldn't get on without me," concluded Miss
Impudence. Whereat we shouted again.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

DEVELOPMENTS.

"Well, who's for church to-day?" said Brian, one fine Sunday morning as
we straggled in to breakfast. "There's one, anyhow," he appended, as
Beryl appeared, clad in a riding habit. "Wouldn't you rather drive,
Beryl? It's going to be hot."

"No. I think I'll ride," she answered, busying herself with the cups
and saucers. "Meerkat wants some exercise, he's getting too lively even
for me. Are you up to going, dad?"

"Make it rather a heavy load, won't it? Still, George might ride.
That'll make three of us--quite enough load too, for that heavy cart."

This was a suggestion which, overtly on the part of one of its hearers,
privily on that of another, met with scant approval. On that of George
because he preferred being driven, and the shade of the cart tilt, and a
comfortable seat, to the trouble of jogging over ten miles of road in
the sun, and on a possibly rough-going mount. On that of myself because
I did not in the least want George on this occasion, nor anybody else.
I wanted the ride alone with Beryl. In fact, I had more than half set
up this arrangement when we had heard the day before that there would be
church service at Stacey's farm at the distance above stated, whither a
parson had unexpectedly turned up.

"Well, I don't think I shall go at all," went on the last speaker. "I
don't feel much up to it."

"You're very wicked, dad," chipped in Iris, with a shake of the head.
"Why, it's six weeks since last church Sunday."

"Quite right, kitten," laughed her father, reaching out a hand to stroke
her bright sunny hair. "Never mind. You can behave twice as well as
usual because I'm not there."

"Well, I'll stay with you."

"No, no. I can't allow that," he laughed. "Not for a moment.