'If you would be
Gay and free,
Take my tip and
Live in a tree.'

'We will, we will,' shouted the Puddin'-owners; but the Puddin' said
sourly: 'This is all very well, all this high falutin'. But what about
the dreadful news of being poisoned at ten-thirty this morning?'

'You ain't poisoned, Albert,' said Bill. 'That was only a mere _ruse de
guerre_, as they say in the noosepapers.'

'A what?' demanded the Puddin', suspiciously.

'Let words be sufficient, without explanation,' said Bill, severely.
'And as we haven't time to waste talkin' philosophy to a Puddin', why,
into the bag he goes, or we'll never get the story finished.'

So Puddin' was bundled into the bag, and Bill said, hurriedly:
'Brilliant as our friend Bunyip had proved himself with his ready wit,
it remains for old Bill to suggest the brightest idea of all. Here is
our friend Ben, a market gardener of the finest description. Very well.
Why not build our house in his market garden. The advantages are
obvious. Vegetables free of charge the whole year round, and fruit in
season. Eggs to be had for the askin', and a fine, simple, honest feller
like Ben, to chat to of an evening. What could be more delightful?'

Ben looked very grave at this proposal and began: 'I very much doubt
whether there will be enough bed clothes for four people, let alone the
carrots are very nervous of strangers--' when Bill cut him short with a
hearty clap on the back.

'Say no more,' said Bill, handsomely. 'Rough, good-humoured fellers like
us don't need apologies, or any social fal-lals at all. We'll take you
as we find you. Without more ado, we shall build a house in your market
garden.'

And, without more ado, they did.

The picture overleaf saves the trouble of explaining how they built it,
and what a splendid house it is. In order that the Puddin' might have
plenty of exercise, they made him a little Puddin' paddock, whence he
can shout rude remarks to the people passing by; a habit, I grieve to
state, he is very prone to.

[Illustration]

Of course, at night they pull up the ladder in case a stray
puddin'-thief happens to be prowling around. If a friend calls to have a
quiet chat, or to join in a sing-song round the fire, they let the
ladder down for him.

And a very pleasant life they lead, sitting of a summer evening on the
balcony while Ben does his little market-garden jobs below, and the
Puddin' throws bits of bark at the cabbages, and pulls f