the official world. It was at time of change and no small national excitement; brooms were sweeping clean, and new offices had arisen everywhere. Mr. Lavender passed bewildered among large stone buildings and small wooden buildings, not knowing where to go. He had bought no clothes since the beginning of the war, except the various Volunteer uniforms which the exigencies of a shifting situation had forced the authorities to withdraw from time to time; and his, small shrunken figure struck somewhat vividly on the eye, with elbows and knees shining in the summer sunlight. Stopping at last before the only object which seemed unchanged, he said:

   "Can you tell me where the Ministry is?"

   The officer looked down at him.

   "What for?"

   "For speaking about the country."

   "Ministry of Propagation? First on the right, second door on the left."

   "Thank you. The Police are wonderful."

   "None of that," said the officer coldly.

   "I only said you were wonderful."

   "I 'eard you."

   "But you are. I don't know what the country would do without you. Your solid qualities, your imperturbable bonhomie, your truly British tenderness towards——"

   "Pass away!" said the officer.

   "I am only repeating what we all say of you," rejoined Mr. Lavender reproachfully.

   "Did you 'ear me say 'Move on,'" said the officer; "or must I make you an example?"

   "YOU are the example," said Mr. Lavender warmly.

   "Any more names," returned the officer, "and I take you to the station." And he moved out into the traffic. Puzzled by his unfriendliness Mr. Lavender resumed his search, and, arriving at the door indicated, went in. A dark, dusty, deserted 

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