The front door opened, and the three came forth to short-lived triumph. I had never before seen a Law Lord dressed as for tennis, with a stump-leg barrel-organ strapped to his shoulder. But it is a shy bird in this plumage. Lord Lundie strove to disembarrass himself of his accoutrements much as an ill-trained Punch and Judy dog tries to escape backwards through his frilled collar. Sir Christopher, covered with limewash, cherished a bleeding thumb, and the almost crazy monkey tore at Giuseppe's hair. The men on both sides reeled, but the woman stood her ground. “Idiots!” she said, and once more, “Idiots!” I could have gladdened a few convicts of my acquaintance with a photograph of Lord Lundie at that instant. “Madam,” he began, wonderfully preserving the roll in his voice, “it was a monkey.” Sir Christopher sucked his thumb and nodded. “Take it away and go,” she replied. “Go away!” I would have gone, and gladly, on this permission, but these still strong men must ever be justifying themselves. Lord Lundie turned to the husband, who for the first time spoke. “I have rented this house. I am moving in,” he said. “We ought to have been in yesterday,” the woman interrupted. “Yes. We ought to have been in yesterday. Have you slept there overnight?” said the man peevishly. “No; I assure you we haven't,” said Lord Lundie. “Then go away. Go quite away,” cried the woman. They went--in single file down the path. They went silently, restrapping the organ on its wheels, and rechaining the monkey to the organ. “Damn it all!” said Penfentenyou. “They do face the music, and they do stick by each other in private life!” “Ties of Common Funk,” I answered. Giuseppe ran to the gate and fled back to the possible world. Lord Lundie and Sir Christopher, constrained by tradition, paced slowly. Then it came to pass that the woman, who walked behind them, lifted up her eyes, and beheld the tree which they had dressed. “Stop!” she called; and they stopped. “Who did that?” There was no answer. The Eternal Bad Boy in every man hung its head before the Eternal Mother in every woman. “Who put these disgusting things there?” she repeated. Suddenly Penfentenyou, Premier of his Colony in all but name, left Jimmy and me, and appeared at the gate. (If he is not turned out of office, that is how he will appear on the Day of Armageddon.) “Well done you!” he cried zealously, and doffed his hat to the woman. “Have you any children, madam?” he demanded. “Yes, two. They should have been here to-day. The firm promised--”