There are moments and moments. The present one belonged to the morepainful variety.

　　Even to my exhausted mind it was plain that there was a need here forexplanations. An Irishman's croquet-lawn is his castle, and strangerscannot plunge in through hedges without inviting comment.

　　Unfortunately, speech was beyond me. I could have emptied a water-butt, laid down and gone to sleep, or melted ice with a touch of thefinger, but I could not speak. The conversation was opened by theother man, in whose restraining hand Aunt Elizabeth now lay, outwardlyresigned but inwardly, as I, who knew her haughty spirit, could guess,boiling with baffled resentment. I could see her looking out of thecorner of her eye, trying to estimate the chances of getting in onegood hard peck with her aquiline beak.

　　"Come right in," said the man pleasantly. "Don't knock."I stood there, gasping. I was only too well aware that I presented aquaint appearance. I had removed my hat before entering the hedge, andmy hair was full of twigs and other foreign substances. My face wasmoist and grimy. My mouth hung open. My legs felt as if they hadceased to belong to me.

　　"I must apol- . . ." I began, and ended the sentence with gulps.

　　The elderly gentleman looked at me with what seemed to be indignantsurprise. His daughter appeared to my guilty conscience to be lookingthrough me. Aunt Elizabeth sneered. The only friendly face was theman's. He regarded me with a kindly smile, as if I were some oldfriend who had dropped in unexpectedly.

　　"Take a long breath," he advised.

　　I took several, and felt better.

　　"I must apologise for this intrusion," I said successfully.

　　"Unwarrantable" would have rounded off the sentence neatly, but Iwould not risk it. It would have been mere bravado to attemptunnecessary words of five syllables. I took in more breath. "The factis, I did--didn't know there was a private garden beyond the hedge. Ifyou will give me my hen . . ."I stopped. Aunt Elizabeth was looking away, as if endeavouring tocreate an impression of having nothing to do with me. I am told by onewho knows that hens cannot raise their eyebrows, not having any; but Iam prepared to swear that at this moment Aunt Elizabeth raised hers. Iwill go further. She sniffed.

　　"Here you are," said the man. "Though it's hard to say good-bye."He held out the hen to me, and at this point a hitch occurred. He didhis part, the letting go, all right. It was in my department, thetaking hold, that the thing was bungled. Aunt Elizabeth slipped frommy grasp like an eel, stood for a moment eyeing me satirically withher head on one side, then fled and entrenched herself in some bushesat the end of the lawn.

　　There are times when the most resolute man feels that he can battle nolonger with fate; when everything seems against him and the onlycourse is a dignified retreat. But there is one thing essential to adignified retreat. You must know the way out. It was the lack of thatknowledge that kept me standing there, looking more foolish thananyone has ever looked since the world began. I could not retire byway of the hedge. If I could have leaped the hedge with a singledebonair bound, that would have been satisfactory. But the hedge washigh, and I did not feel capable at the moment of achieving a debonairbound over a footstool.

　　The man saved the situation. He seemed to possess that magnetic powerover his fellows which marks the born leader. Under his command webecame an organised army. The common object, the pursuit of theelusive Aunt Elizabeth, made us friends. In the first minute of theproceedings the Irishman was addressing me as "me dear boy," and theman, who had introduced himself as Mr. Chase--a lieutenant, I learnedlater, in His Majesty's Navy--was shouting directions to me by name. Ihave never assisted at any ceremony at which formality was socompletely dispensed with. The ice was not merely broken; it wasshivered into a million fragments.

　　"Go in and drive her out, Garnet," shouted Mr. Chase. "In my directionif you can. Look out on the left, Phyllis."Even in that disturbing moment I could not help noticing his use ofthe Christian name. It seemed to me more than sinister. I did not likethe idea of dashing young lieutenants in the senior service calling agirl Phyllis whose eyes had haunted me since I had first seen them.

　　Nevertheless, I crawled into the bushes and administered to AuntElizabeth a prod in the lower ribs--if hens have lower ribs. The moreI study hens, the more things they seem able to get along without--which abruptly disturbed her calm detachment. She shot out at the spotwhere Mr. Chase was waiting with his coat off, and was promptlyenveloped in that garment and captured.

　　"The essence of strategy," observed Mr. Chase approvingly, "issurprise. A neat piece of work!"I thanked him. He deprecated my thanks. He had, he said, only done hisduty, as expected to by England. He then introduced me to the elderlyIrishman, who was, it seemed, a professor at Dublin University, byname, Derrick. Whatever it was that he professed, it was somethingthat did not keep him for a great deal of his time at the University.

　　He informed me that he always spent his summers at Combe Regis.

　　"I was surprised to see you at Combe Regis," I said. "When you got outat Yeovil, I thought I had seen the last of you."I think I am gifted beyond other men as regards the unfortunateturning of sentences.

　　"I meant," I added, "I was afraid I had.""Ah, of course," he said, "you were in our carriage coming down. I wasconfident I had seen you before. I never forget a face.""It would be a kindness," said Mr. Chase, "if you would forgetGarnet's as now exhibited. You seem to have collected a good deal ofthe scenery coming through that hedge.""I was wondering----" I said. "A wash--if I might----""Of course, me boy, of course," said the professor. "Tom, take Mr.

　　Garnet off to your room, and then we'll have lunch. You'll stay tolunch, Mr. Garnet?"I thanked him, commented on possible inconvenience to hisarrangements, was overruled, and went off with my friend thelieutenant to the house. We imprisoned Aunt Elizabeth in the stables,to her profound indignation, gave directions for lunch to be served toher, and made our way to Mr. Chase's room.

　　"So you've met the professor before?" he said, hospitably laying out achange of raiment for me--we were fortunately much of a height andbuild.

　　"I have never spoken to him," I said. "We travelled down from Londonin the same carriage.""He's a dear old boy, if you rub him the right way. But--I'm tellingyou this for your good and guidance; a man wants a chart in a strangesea--he can cut up rough. And, when he does, he goes off like a four-point-seven and the population for miles round climbs trees. I think,if I were you, I shouldn't mention Sir Edward Carson at lunch."I promised that I would try to avoid the temptation.

　　"In fact, you'd better keep off Ireland altogether. It's the safestplan. Any other subject you like. Chatty remarks on Bimetallism wouldmeet with his earnest attention. A lecture on What to do with the ColdMutton would be welcomed. But not Ireland. Shall we do down?"We got to know each other at lunch.

　　"Do you hunt hens," asked Tom Chase, who was mixing the salad--he wasone of those men who seemed to do everything a shade better thananyone else--"for amusement or by your doctor's orders? Many doctors,I believe, insist on it.""Neither," I said, "and especially not for amusement. The fact is,I've been lured down here by a friend of mine who has started achicken farm--"I was interrupted. All three of them burst out laughing. Tom Chaseallowed the vinegar to trickle on to the cloth, missing the salad-bowlby a clear two inches.

　　"You don't mean to tell us," he said, "that you really come from theone and only chicken farm? Why, you're the man we've all been prayingto meet for days past. You're the talk of the town. If you can callCombe Regis a town. Everybody is discussing you. Your methods are newand original, aren't they?""Probably. Ukridge knows nothing about fowls. I know less. Heconsiders it an advantage. He says our minds ought to be unbiassed.""Ukridge!" said the professor. "That was the name old Dawlish, thegrocer, said. I never forget a name. He is the gentleman who lectureson the management of poultry? You do not?"I hastened to disclaim any such feat. I had never really approved ofthese infernal talks on the art of chicken-farming which Ukridge haddropped into the habit of delivering when anybody visited our farm. Iadmit that it was a pleasing spectacle to see my managing director ina pink shirt without a collar and very dirty flannel trouserslecturing the intelligent native; but I had a feeling that the thingtended to expose our ignorance to men who had probably had to do withfowls from their cradle up.

　　"His lectures are very popular," said Phyllis Derrick with a littlesplutter of mirth.

　　"He enjoys them," I said.

　　"Look here, Garnet," said Tom Chase, "I hope you won't consider allthese questions impertinent, but you've no notion of the thrillinginterest we all take--at a distance--in your farm. We have beentalking of nothing else for a week. I have dreamed of it three nightsrunning. Is Mr. Ukridge doing this as a commercial speculation, or ishe an eccentric millionaire?""He's not a millionaire yet, but I believe he intends to be oneshortly, with the assistance of the fowls. But you mustn't look on meas in any way responsible for the arrangements at the farm. I ammerely a labourer. The brainwork of the business lies in Ukridge'sdepartment. As a matter of fact, I came down here principally insearch of golf.""Golf?" said Professor Derrick, with the benevolent approval of theenthusiast towards a brother. "I'm glad you play golf. We must have around together.""As soon as ever my professional duties will permit," I saidgratefully.

　　* * * * *There was croquet after lunch,--a game of which I am a poor performer.

　　Phyllis Derrick and I played the professor and Tom Chase. Chase was alittle better than myself; the professor, by dint of extremeearnestness and care, managed to play a fair game; and Phyllis was anexpert.

　　"I was reading a book," she said, as we stood together watching theprofessor shaping at his ball at the other end of the lawn, "by anauthor of the same surname as you, Mr. Garnet. Is he a relation ofyours?""My name is Jeremy, Miss Derrick.""Oh, you wrote it?" She turned a little pink. "Then you must have--oh,nothing.""I couldn't help it, I'm afraid.""Did you know what I was going to say?""I guessed. You were going to say that I must have heard yourcriticisms in the train. You were very lenient, I thought.""I didn't like your heroine.""No. What is a 'creature,' Miss Derrick?""Pamela in your book is a 'creature,' " she replied unsatisfactorily.

　　Shortly after this the game came somehow to an end. I do notunderstand the intricacies of croquet. But Phyllis did somethingbrilliant and remarkable with the balls, and we adjourned for tea. Thesun was setting as I left to return to the farm, with Aunt Elizabethstored neatly in a basket in my hand. The air was deliciously cool,and full of that strange quiet which follows soothingly on the skirtsof a broiling midsummer afternoon. Far away, seeming to come fromanother world, a sheep-bell tinkled, deepening the silence. Alone in asky of the palest blue there gleamed a small, bright star.

　　I addressed this star.

　　"She was certainly very nice to me. Very nice indeed." The star saidnothing.

　　"On the other hand, I take it that, having had a decent up-bringing,she would have been equally polite to any other man whom she hadhappened to meet at her father's house. Moreover, I don't feelaltogether easy in my mind about that naval chap. I fear the worst."The star winked.

　　"He calls her Phyllis," I said.

　　"Charawk!" chuckled Aunt Elizabeth from her basket, in that beastlycynical, satirical way which has made her so disliked by all right-thinking people.