"Yes," said Philip. "But I'll come up on the other side of you. Then I shall be able to keep the wind off you a bit. It's rather cold." And he did so. Poor Uncle Joseph! Now they were on the gate together, side by side, actually touching. Philip, feeling slightly dazed, chiefly noted the little girl's hands, which were clasped round her knees. His own hands were broad, and inclined to be horny; hers were slim, with long fingers. The little girl turned to him with a quick, confiding smile. "Now tell me why," she commanded. "Why what?" asked Philip reluctantly. "Why you went away just now." Philip took a deep breath, and embarked upon the task of relegating this small but dangerous animal to her proper place in the Universe. "It was--it was what Uncle Joseph said," he explained lamely. "Who is Uncle Joseph?" "He--I live with him." "Haven't you got a father or a mother?" A pair of very kind eyes were turned full upon him. "No." "Poor boy!" To Philip's acute distress a small arm was slipped within his own. "I have a father and a mother," said the little girl. "You may come and see them if you like." Philip, who intended to cut the whole connection as soon as he could decently escape from the gate, thanked her politely. "Only don't come without telling me," continued his admonitress, "because Father isn't always in a good temper." Philip thought he might safely promise this. "Now tell me what Uncle Joseph said," resumed the little girl. "What is your name?" she added, before the narrative could proceed. "Philip." "Philip what?" "Philip Meldrum." "Shall I call you Phil?" enquired the lady, with a friendly smile. "Yes, please," replied Philip, feeling greatly surprised at himself. There was a pause. Philip became dimly conscious that something was expected of him--something that had nothing to do with Uncle Joseph. He turned to his companion for enlightenment. Her face was slightly flushed, and her eyes met his shyly. "What is _your_ name?" he enquired cautiously. "Marguerite Evelyn Leslie Falconer," replied the little girl, in tones of intense relief. "Oh," said Philip. "Do they call you all that?" "No. I am usually called Peggy. Sometimes Pegs." "Why?" Miss Falconer sighed indulgently. "Peggy is the short for Marguerite," she explained. "Didn't you know?" "No," said Philip. He was about to proceed to a further confession, when the little girl said graciously:-- "You may call me Peggy if you like." Here Philip, whose moral stamina seemed to be crumbling altogether, took his second downward step. "I shall call you Pegs," he said boldly. "All right," replied the lady so designated. "Now tell me what Uncle Joseph said." "Uncle Joseph," began Philip once more, "was with me on Sunday, when you were sitting here." "Was I?" enquired Peggy with a touch of _hauteur_. Then she continued inconsequently: "I remember him quite well. Go on." "He saw you," continued the hapless Philip, "when you smiled at me."