"You have children, then?"
"Yes, three little girls. The eldest is, I'm afraid, becoming grown-up; but the others are quite children, and as wild as little hares."
By this time they had passed the rickety gate and were approaching the house, the double doors of which stood hospitably open.
Mr. Graydon drew up on the gravel-sweep opposite the door.
"I must take Frisky round," he said, "and, meanwhile, will you go into the drawing-room? It is the first door on the left. I'll be back with you in a minute, as soon as I've found little Tim to take Frisky from me—likely as not he's playing marbles in the paddock."
Sir Anthony did as he was directed. The big hall, when he had entered it, was full of sunlight, but otherwise bare as poverty. A big fireplace, where the brasses tarnished and the steel rusted; a great handsome box, intended for billets of wood, but now coldly empty; some dusty antlers and shields on the high wall—these were not cheerful.
What was, was the sound of young laughter proceeding from the door to the left—exuberant laughter, full of enjoyment, accompanied with an odd little sound of rushing hither and thither.
The young fellow's face lit up as he went forward.
"The children playing 'Puss in the Corner,'" he said to himself, and went almost on tip-toe.
But as he reached the door he was met by a sudden silvery shriek. Something feathery and very hard struck him between the eyes; then the thing dodged him, but before he could discover what it was another missile followed; at the same moment the silvery voice cried, in accents of despair:—