Peering angrily with one eye out of my leafy ambush, I tried hard to attract Araminta's attention, but all in vain. Chairs were brought out and tea came with some particularly cool-looking sandwiches; cups were filled; spoons clinked; steadily the afternoon wore on. Flecks of fleecy white cloud chased each other in the blue-domed heaven above me. From far away rose the hum of the mighty city. In the next-door garden but two I could see a happy family circle partaking of light sustenance. I think it was nearly an hour-and-a-half before those infernal women left. Araminta conducted them to the gate, said a lingering good-bye, and wafted them down the road with wavings and smiles. When they were safely off the premises I slithered down and confronted her, looking dignified and stern, still holding the ball in one hand and the wooden club in the other.
Instead of bursting into tears, as I had expected, she went off into a fit of idiotic giggles. "You—you don't mean to say you've been up in that tree all tea-time! You are too funny. And you've got a great black splodge over one eye. Do go and wash."
With an effort I controlled my rage. "In future," I said coldly, "when I am—er—mowing the lawn, visitors will be served with tea in the second drawing-room."
"All right, dear," said Araminta; "and in future, when you are mowing the lawn, you shall have yours taken up into the pear-tree."
Women have no sense of humour.
GIANTS REFRESHED.
Our Leaders. "ENOUGH OF DEEDS! LET'S GET TO WORDS!"