romptly retired into her
shell when Georgie announced that he had changed his mind about going to
town, and would stay to play with Miss Lacy if she had nothing better to
do.

"Oh, but don't let me throw you out. I'm at work. I've things to do all
the morning."

"What possessed Georgie to behave so oddly?" the mother sighed to
herself. "Miriam's a bundle of feelings--like her mother."

"You compose--don't you? Must be a fine thing to be able to do that.
['Pig-oh, pig!' thought Miriam.] I think I heard you singin' when I came
in last night after fishin'. All about a Sea of Dreams, wasn't it?
[Miriam shuddered to the core of the soul that afflicted her.] Awfully
pretty song. How d' you think of such things?"

"You only composed the music, dear, didn't you?"

"The words too. I'm sure of it," said Georgie, with a sparkling eye. No;
she did not know.

"Yeth; I wrote the words too." Miriam spoke slowly, for she knew she
lisped when she was nervous.

"Now how could you tell, Georgie?" said the mother, as delighted as
though the youngest major in the army were ten years old, showing off
before company.

"I was sure of it, somehow. Oh, there are heaps of things about me,
mummy, that you don't understand. Looks as if it were goin' to be a hot
day--for England. Would you care for a ride this afternoon, Miss Lacy?
We can start out after tea, if you'd like it."

Miriam could not in decency refuse, but any woman might see she was not
filled with delight.

"That will be very nice, if you take the Bassett Road. It will save me
sending Martin down to the village," said the mother, filling in gaps.

Like all good managers, the mother had her one weakness--a mania
for little strategies that should economise horses and vehicles. Her
men-folk complained that she turned them into common carriers, and there
was a legend in the family that she had once said to the pater on the
morning of a meet: "If you should kill near Bassett, dear, and if it
isn't too late, would you mind just popping over and matching me this?"

"I knew that was coming. You'd never miss a chance, mother. If it's a
fish or a trunk I won't." Georgie laughed.

"It's only a duck. They can do it up very neatly at Mallett's," said the
mother, simply. "You won't mind, will you? We'll have a scratch dinner
at nine, because it's so hot."

The long summer day dragged itself out for centuries; but at last there
was tea on the lawn, and Miriam appeared.

She was in