ere several men and
women, boys and girls, were seated round the wall. They were singing
hymns to the accompaniment of a harmonium. A table loaded with
eatables was pushed into a corner. The entrance of Mr. Martin,
followed by a dirty, unkempt, and oddly dressed stranger, caused an
abrupt cessation of the singing. The girl at the harmonium sprang up
with a startled look.

"What is it, Father?" she asked anxiously.

"Nothing to be scart about, my girl. Neighbours, this gentleman has
come all the way from London in an aeroplane."

The announcement was received in dead silence. Smith stood like a
statue as he listened to Mr. Martin's hurried explanation, resigning
himself to be the target of all eyes. Everybody crowded about him,
silent no longer, but all asking questions at once. Mrs. Martin went
to the table and brought from it a dish of chicken patties, which she
pressed upon him.

"Do'ee eat now," she said, in the broad accent of Devonshire. "I made
'em myself, and you must be downright famished."

"Not quite so bad as that," said Smith, with a smile, "I had a good
breakfast at Penang, and have nibbled some biscuits and things on the
way."

"Biscuits are poor food for a hungry man. Eat away now, do."

Other members of the family brought ale, cider, fruit, cakes, enough
for a dozen men, and for some minutes Smith's attention was divided
between eating and drinking and answering the questions which poured
upon him in a never-ending flood. Conscious of the lapse of time, he
at last said that he must go and obtain the fuel for his engine. The
men rose in a body, prepared to accompany him.

"I don't think we had better all go, neighbours," said Mr. Martin.
"I'll take Mr. Smith to the Resident; we shall have to see him about
the petrol, you know."

"There's one thing your friends can do for me," said Smith. "I want
ten or a dozen rifles, and a lot of ammunition. Can you provide them
at such short notice?"

"I should just think we can," said Mr. Martin. "Neighbours, get
together what Mr. Smith wants, and take 'em out along to the
aeroplane. It's just a step or two beyond the railway, from what he
says. Mother, send out some eatables, too, something better than
biscuits, to Mr. Smith's man, who's looking after it. Now, Mr. Smith,
come along. The Residency isn't far off: we're only a small town."

The two set off, and in a few minutes arrived at the Residency, a
stone building of more pretensions than the wood an