ay, and doesn't care for music-halls--'low I call them, Miss.' I
asked her if she were fond of music, and she said, 'Oh yes, Miss,' and
then with a coy glance, 'I ply the mandoline.' I think she is about
fifty, and not at all good-looking, so she will be a much more
comfortable person in the house than Julie, who would have moped without
admirers.

"Well, at present Mawson and I are rather like Robinson Crusoe and Man
Friday on the island...."

* * * * *

Pamela stopped and looked out of the window for inspiration. Miss
Bathgate's parlour was not alluring, but the view from it was a
continual feast--spreading fields, woods that in this yellowing time of
the year were a study in old gold, the winding river, and the blue hills
beyond. Pamela saw each detail with delight; then, letting her eyes come
nearer home, she studied the well-kept garden belonging to her landlady.
On the wall that separated it from the next garden a small boy and a dog
were seated.

Pamela liked boys, so she smiled encouragingly to this one, the boy
responding by solemnly raising his cap.

Pamela leaned out of the window.

"Good morning," she said. "What's your name?"

"My name's Gervase Taunton, but I'm called 'the Mhor.' This is Peter
Jardine," patting the dog's nose.

"I'm very glad to know you," said Pamela. "Isn't that wall damp?"

"It is rather," said Mhor. "We came to look at you."

"Oh," said Pamela.

"I've never seen an Honourable before, neither has Peter."

"You'd better come in and see me quite close," Pamela suggested. "I've
got some chocolates here."

Mhor and Peter needed no further invitation. They sprang from the wall
and in a few seconds presented themselves at the door of the
sitting-room.

Pamela shook hands with Mhor and patted Peter, and produced a box of
chocolates.

"I hope they're the kind you like?" she said politely.

"I like any kind," said Mhor, "but specially hard ones. I don't suppose
you have anything for Peter? A biscuit or a bit of cake? Peter's like
me. He's always hungry for cake and _never_ hungry for porridge."

Pamela, feeling extremely remiss, confessed that she had neither cake
nor biscuits and dared not ask Miss Bathgate for any.

"But you're bigger than Miss Bathgate," Mhor pointed out. "You needn't
be afraid of her. I'll ask her, if you like."

Pamela heard him cross the passage and open the kitchen door and begin
politely, "Good morning, Miss Bathgat