tenderness, when every tiger was a “good, good tiger,” and naughty children “never did it any more,” and a condition of frank cannibalism, when he literally wallowed in atrocities. His mother forbode to lecture, but judiciously turned the conversation.

“Kings can do much nicer things than that, Patsy boy. Our kind King Edward doesn’t like cutting off heads a bit. He is always trying to prevent men from fighting with each other.”

“Is he?”

“Yes, he is. People call him the Peace-maker, because he prevents so many wars.”

“Bother him!” cried Pat fervently.

Margot giggled helplessly. Mrs Martin stared fixedly out of the window, and Jim in his turn took up the ball of conversation.

“Mummie, will you die before me?”

“I can’t tell, dear; nobody knows.”

“Will daddy die before me?”

“Probably he will.”

“May I have his penknife when he’s dead?”

“I think it’s about time to cut up that lovely new cake!” cried Margot, saving the situation with admirable promptitude. “We bought it for you this afternoon, and it tastes of chocolate, and all sorts of good things.”

The bait was successful, and a silence followed, eloquent of intense enjoyment; then the table was cleared and various games were played, in the midst of which Jack’s whistle sounded from without, and his wife and sons rushed to meet him. They looked a typical family group as they re-entered the room, Edith happily hanging on to his arm, the boys prancing round his feet, and the onlooker felt a little pang of loneliness at the sight.

John Martin was a tall, well-made man, with a clean-shaven face and deep-set grey eyes. He was pale and lined, and a nervous twitching of the eyelids testified to the strain through which he had passed, but it was a strong face and a pleasant face, and, when he looked at his wife, a face of indescribable tenderness. At the moment he was smiling, for it was always a pleasure to see his pretty sister-in-law, and to-night Edith’s anxious looks had departed, and she skipped by his side as 

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