r hat, Mrs. Sartoris. We have just nice time to slip
across before lunch."

Upon arriving at the rectory, Jim plunged at once _in medias res_.

"We are come across to consult you about what we are to do to-night.
Rumour, in the shape of Pansey Cottrell, declares, Miss Sylla, that you
are 'immense' in all this sort of thing."

"Mr. Cottrell, as you will soon discover, has been imposing upon you to
a great extent," replied Sylla; "but still I shall be glad to be of any
use I can."

"Our difficulty is this," interposed Mrs. Sartoris: "when I have acted,
it has always been in a regular play. My words have been set down for
me, so that of course I knew exactly what I had to say and when to say
it; but in charades, Captain Bloxam tells me, I shall have to improvise
my words. I have never seen one acted; but that strikes me as
dreadfully difficult."

"You are perfectly right, Mrs. Sartoris; it is. And yet people who
have serious misgivings about their ability to act a play have no
hesitation about taking part in charades. It is wont to result in all
the characters wanting to talk together, or else in nobody apparently
having anything to say, or in one character being so enamoured with the
ease he or she improvises, that the affair resolves itself into a mere
monologue. I would venture to suggest that our charades should be
merely pantomimic."

"Glorious!" exclaimed Jim. "I vote we place ourselves in Miss Sylla's
hands, and elect her manageress. Will you agree, Mrs. Sartoris?"

"Most certainly. The idea sounds excellent, and to leave the
originator to carry it out is undoubtedly the best thing we can do."

"Very well, then; if you will give me an hour or two to think out my
words, I will explain how they ought to be done."

"If you wouldn't mind coming up to the Grange, we might have a
rehearsal this afternoon, rummage up the properties, and all the rest
of it," exclaimed Jim, energetically.

"That will do admirably," said Laura Chipchase. "And now, Sylla, the
sooner you set that great mind of yours to work, the better."

CHAPTER VII.

"THE PLAY'S THE THING."

Todborough Grange rejoiced in what should be the adjunct of every country
house--a large unfurnished room. It had been thrown out expressly as a
playroom for the children by Cedric Bloxam's father, and as they grew up
proved even more useful. Should the house be full and the weather prove
wet, what games of battledore and shuttlecock, "be