risk conversation, some skill at cooking, slow and full of
dignity on the stairs, much reminiscent of former lodgers, bold as a
lion when she thinks she is imposed upon, but otherwhiles humorous and
placable--such is our Mrs. Beesley.

She saw us standing by the window, and thought we were watching the
leaves twisting up the roadway in golden spirals.

"Watching the wind?" she said pleasantly. "I loves to see the leaves
'avin' a frolic. They enjoys it, same as young gentlemen do."

"Or young ladies?" I suggested. "We were watching the flappers play
hockey, Mrs. Beesley. One of them is a most fascinating creature. I
think her name must be Kathleen...."

Mrs. Beesley chuckled merrily and threw up her head in that delightful
way of hers. "Oh, dear, Oh, dear, you're just like all the other
gentlemen," she said. "Always awatchin' and awaitin' for the young
ladies. Mr. Bye that used to be 'ere was just the same, an' he was
engaged to be marrit. 'Ad some of 'em in to tea once, he did. I thought
it was scandalous, and 'im almost a marrit gentleman."

"Don't you remember what the poet says, Mrs. Beesley?" I suggested:

"Beauty must be scorned in none
Though but truly served in one."

"Not much danger of you gentlemen bein' too scornful," said Mrs.
Beesley. Her eyes began to sparkle now that she saw herself fairly
embarked upon a promising conversation. She sidled a little farther into
the room. Lloyd winked at me and quietly escaped behind her.

"Seeing as we're alone," said Mrs. Beesley, "I come to you to see about
dinner to-night. I knows as you're the father of 'em all." (That is her
quaint way of saying that she thinks me the leading spirit of the three
who dig with her.) "How about a little jugged 'are? Nice little 'ares
there are in Cowley Road now. I thinks 'are is very tender an' tasty.
That, an' a nice 'ot cup o' tea?"

The last 'are had been, in Tennyson's phrase, "the heir of all the
ages," so I deprecated the suggestion. "I don't think hare agrees with
Mr. Williams," I said.

"'Ow about a pheasant?" said Mrs. Beesley, stroking the corner of the
table with her hand as she always does when in deep thought. "A
pheasant and a Welsh rabbit, not too peppery. That goes well with the
cider. Dr. Warren came 'ere to dinner once, an' he had a Welsh rabbit
and never forgot it. 'E allus used to say when 'e saw me, ''Ow about
that Welsh rabbit, Mrs. Beesley?' Oh, dear, Oh, dear, 'e _is_ a kind
gentleman! 'E gav