at home at Mr.
Turnbull's. To Venia he related strange adventures by sea and land, and
on subjects of which he was sure the farmer knew nothing he was a perfect
mine of information. He began to talk in low tones to Venia, and the
heart of Mr. Blundell sank within him as he noted her interest. Their
voices fell to a gentle murmur, and the sergeant's sleek, well-brushed
head bent closer to that of his listener. Relieved from his attentions,
Mr. Turnbull fell asleep without more ado.

Blundell sat neglected, the unwilling witness of a flirtation he was
powerless to prevent. Considering her limited opportunities, Miss
Turnbull displayed a proficiency which astonished him. Even the sergeant
was amazed, and suspected her of long practice.

"I wonder whether it is very hot outside?" she said, at last, rising and
looking out of the window.

"Only pleasantly warm," said the sergeant. "It would be nice down by the
water."

"I'm afraid of disturbing father by our talk," said the considerate
daughter. "You might tell him we've gone for a little stroll when he
wakes," she added, turning to Blundell.

Mr. Blundell, who had risen with the idea of acting the humble but, in
his opinion, highly necessary part of chaperon, sat down again and
watched blankly from the window until they were out of sight. He was
half inclined to think that the exigencies of the case warranted him in
arousing the farmer at once.

It was an hour later when the farmer awoke, to find himself alone with
Mr. Blundell, a state of affairs for which he strove with some
pertinacity to make that aggrieved gentleman responsible.

"Why didn't you go with them?" he demanded. "Because I wasn't asked,"
replied the other.

Mr. Turnbull sat up in his chair and eyed him disdainfully. "For a
great, big chap like you are, John Blundell," he exclaimed, "it's
surprising what a little pluck you've got."

"I don't want to go where I'm not wanted," retorted Mr. Blundell.

"That's where you make a mistake," said the other, regarding him
severely; "girls like a masterful man, and, instead of getting your own
way, you sit down quietly and do as you're told, like a tame--tame--"

"Tame what?" inquired Mr. Blundell, resentfully.

"I don't know," said the other, frankly; "the tamest thing you can think
of. There's Daly laughing in his sleeve at you, and talking to Venia
about Waterloo and the Crimea as though he'd been there. I thought it
was pretty near settle