of you, Archibald!" she was saying. 

 "What did she call him 'bald for, Uncle Dick?" inquired the Imp in a loud stage-whisper, as I dragged him down behind the laurels. "He's not a bit bald, you know! An' I say, Uncle Dick, did you see his arm, it was round—" 

 "Yes—yes!" I nodded. 

 "Just like Peter's, you know." 

 "Yes—yes, I saw." 

 "I wonder why she called him—" 

 "Hush!" I broke in, "his name is Archibald, I suppose." 

 "Well, I hope when I grow up nobody will ever call me—" 

 "Hush!" I said again, "not a word—there's your Auntie Lisbeth! She was, indeed, standing upon the terrace, within a yard of our hiding-place, and beside her was Mr. Selwyn. 

 "Uncle Dick," whispered the irrepressible Imp, "do you think if we watch long enough that Mr. Selwyn will put his arm round—" 

 "Shut up!" I whispered savagely. Lisbeth was clad in a long, trailing gown of dove-coloured silk—one of those close-fitting garments that make the uninitiated, such as myself, wonder how they are ever got on. Also, she wore a shawl, which I was sorry for, because I have always been an admirer of beautiful things, and Lisbeth's neck and shoulders are glorious. Mr. Selwyn stood beside her with a plate of ice cream in his hand, which he handed to her, and they sat down. As I watched her and noticed her weary, bored air, and how wistfully she gazed up at the silver disc of the moon, I experienced a feeling of decided satisfaction. 

 "Yes," said Lisbeth, toying absently with the ice cream, "he painted Dorothy's face with stripes of red and green enamel, and goodness only knows how we can ever get it all off!" 

 Mr. Selwyn was duly shocked and murmured something about 'the efficacy of turpentine' in such an emergency. 

 "Of course, I had to punish him," continued Lisbeth, "so I sent him to bed immediately after tea, and never went to say good-night, or tuck him up as I usually do, and it has been worrying me all the evening." 

 Mr. Selwyn was sure that he was all right, and positively certain 

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