onge sucks up water. The aeronaut's car was
shaking visibly.

"But that is not all," said the latter recklessly. "I promptly set to
work on a new colour, and I produced----"

"Yes, yes--you produced----"

"_A pea-green dahlia, twelve inches in diameter._"

"My dear, my very dear sir," cried the Colonel, well-nigh hysterical
with wonder and delight, "I insist on your coming down _at once_ from
that tree and partaking of luncheon with me. I have some excellent '49
port, and we'll discuss the two subjects together. Really, it is very
remiss of me not to have suggested your coming down sooner; the
situation is not well adapted to conversation, and doubtless you are far
from comfortable."

"No apology necessary, I assure you. I took the liberty, some time ago,
of requesting your daugh--your gardener to bring me a ladder. He will
appear presently, I have no doubt--in fact, I see him coming at this
moment."

Now Miss Currie, though apparently she had forgotten the very existence
of Reginald Hampton, had in point of fact followed his fortunes with an
interest bordering on trepidation. Having run the gardener to earth, she
was informed by that functionary that there was not a ladder about the
place sufficiently long to reach to the top of the pear tree; the
Colonel's longest ladder had been broken a week ago, and of the others
not one was half the necessary size.

"But you _must_ find one somewhere," insisted the girl, with the pretty
imperiousness of feminine youth; "there is a gentleman at the very top
of the tree, and he is at this moment dying for want of food. What a
pity the pears are not ripe! Can't you think of someone who would lend
you a ladder?"

The gardener scratched his head and pondered. There _was_ one at
Langbridge Farm, a good mile away, but it was a powerful hot morning to
walk a mile with a heavy ladder on one's shoulder. Still, Missy seemed
anxious, and Missy had had a right to have her own way ever since she
was as high as one of his dwarf rose trees.

[Illustration: "THE COLONEL GREW PURPLE, THEN WHITE, AND BEAT UPON THE
TABLE WITH HIS FINGERS."]

So the gardener had departed to Langbridge Farm, and Miss Currie had
peeped round the corner of the house, to see how it was faring with the
balloonist. She found her worst fears confirmed; her father was standing
under the pear tree and abusing the poor man like a pickpocket. The
girl, realising how futile it would be for her to put in an appearance