"I don't know for certain," he said, carefully; "but I shouldn't be surprised if they aren't clothes, dear old officer."
"Clothes?"
"For Henry," explained Bones, and cutting the string of one and tearing away its covering revealed a little mountain of snowy garments. Bones turned them over one by one.
"For Henry," he repeated; "could you tell me, sir, what these things are for?"
He held up a garment white and small and frilly.
"No, sir, I can't," said Hamilton stiffly, "unless like the ass that you are you have forgotten to mention to your friends that Henry is a gentleman child."
Bones looked up at the blue sky and scratched his chin.
"I may have called him 'her,'" he confessed.
There were, to be exact, sixteen parcels and each contained at least one such garment, and in addition a very warm shawl, "which," said Hamilton, "will be immensely useful when it snows."
With the aid of his orderly, Bones sorted out the wardrobe and the playthings (including many volumes of the Oh-look-at-the-rat-on-the-mat-where-is-the-cat? variety), and these he carried to his hut with such dignity as he could summon.