"Very possibly. Your newspaper printed my picture the other day, with some rather uncomplimentary remarks." 

 Bleak was nonplussed. 

 "Very stupid of me," he said, "but I don't seem to recall—" 

 "I am Miss Chuff," she said calmly. 

 The editor's brain staggered. 

 "Miss Theodolinda Chuff?" he said, in amazement. He recalled some satirical editorials the Balloon had printed concerning the activities of the Chuffs, and wondered if he were being kidnaped for court-martial by the Pan-Antis. Evidently the use of Quimbleton's name had been a ruse. 

 "It was unfair of you to make use of Quimbleton's name to get me into your hands," he said angrily. 

 Miss Chuff turned a momentary gaze of amusement upon him, as they passed a large tractor drawing several truckloads of gooseberry plants. 

 "You don't understand," she said demurely. "You may remember that Mr. Quimbleton's card gave his name as associate director of the Happiness Corporation?" 

 "Yes," said Bleak. 

 "I am the Director," she said. 

 "YOU? But how can that be? Why, your father—" 

 "That's just why. Any one who had to live with Father would be sure to take the opposite side. He's a Pan-Anti. I'm a Pan-Pro. Those poems I have written for him were merely a form of camouflage. Besides, they were so absurd they were sure to do harm to the cause. That's why I wrote them. I'll explain it all to you a little later." 

 At this moment they were held up by an armed guard of chuffs, stationed at the city limits. These saluted respectfully on seeing the Bishop's daughter, but examined Bleak's passport with care. Then the car passed on into the suburbs. 

 As they neared the fields of actual battle, Bleak was able to see something of the embittered nature of the conflict. In the hot white sunlight of the summer morning platoons of Pan-Antis could be seen marching across the fields, going up from the rest centers to the firing line. In one place a shallow trench 

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