“They’ll only think it’s

Thompson and say come in,” she decided. “That’s no good.”

Tim jumped up, using Maria as a support to raise himself. “I know

what!” he cried. “Go and bang the gong. He’ll think it’s dressingtime.” The idea was magnificent. “I’ll go if you funk it,” he added,

and had already slithered half way over the back of the chair when

Judy forestalled him and had her hand upon the door-knob. He

encouraged her with various instructions about the proper way to beat

the gong, and was just beginning a scuffle with the inanimate Maria,

who now managed to occupy the entire chair, when he was aware of a new

phenomenon that made him stop abruptly. He saw Judy’s face hanging in

mid-air, six feet above the level of the floor. Her face was flushed

and smiling; her hair hung over her eyes; and from somewhere behind or

underneath her a gruff voice said sternly:

“What are you doing in my Study at this time of night? Who asked

you in?”

The expected figure had entered, catching Judy in the act of

opening the door. He was carrying her in his arms. She landed with a

flop upon the carpet. The desired and desirable thing was about to

happen. “Get out, you lump, it’s Daddy.” But Maria, accustomed to her

brother’s exaggerated language, and knowing it was only right and

manly, merely raised her eyes and waited for him to help her out. Tim

did help her out; half dragging and half lifting, he deposited her in

a solid heap upon the floor, then ran to the figure that now dominated

the dim, fire-lit room, and hugged it with all his force, making

sounds in his throat like an excited animal: “Ugh! ugh! ugh!…!”

The hug was returned with equal vigour, but without the curious

sounds; Maria was hugged as well and set upon her feet; while Judy,

having already been sufficiently hugged, pushed the armchair closer

up to the fire and waited patiently for the proper business of the

evening to begin.

The figure, meanwhile, disentangled itself. It was tall and thin,

with a mild, resigned expression upon a kindly face that years and

care had lined before its time: old-fashioned rather, with soft, grey

whiskers belonging to an earlier day. A black tail-coat adorned it,

and the neck-tie was crooked in the turned-down collar. The

watch-chain went from the waistcoat button to one pocket only,

instead of right across, and one finger wore a heavy signet-ring that

bore the family crest. It was obviously the figure of an overworked

official in the Civil Service who had returned from its daily routine

in London to the evening routine of its family in the country, the

atmosphere of Government and the Underground still hanging round it.

For sundry whiffs of the mysterious city reached the children’s

nostrils, bringing thrills of some strange, remote reality they had

never known at first-hand. They busied themselves at once. While Tim

unbuttoned the severe black coat and pulled it off, Judy brought a

jacket of dingy tweed from behind a curtain in the corner, and stood

on a chair to help the figure put it on. All knew their duties; the

performance went like clockwork. And Maria sat and watched in helpful

silence. There was a certain air about her as though she did it all.

“How they do spoil me, to be sure,” the figure murmured to itself;

“yet Mother’s always saying that I spoil them. I wonder…!”

“Now you look decent at last,” said Judy. “You smell like a nice

rabbit.”

“It’s my shooting-coat.” The figure cleared its throat, apparently

on the defensive a little.

Tim and Judy sniffed it. “Rabbits and squirrels and earth and

things,” thought Tim.