"I can so well imagine how the hearts of our dear boys in the trenches must yearn for the simple stories of their childhood. I have been unable to obtain for you a separate edition of the story you desire, so I send you a complete edition which belonged to my poor brother. It was one of his most cherished treasures, and I have always preserved it in memory of him; but I am sure that he could have wished nothing better than that his book should be instrumental in adding to the happiness of our brave soldiers. That it may bring you some cheer in the midst of your terrible troubles is the earnest wish of "Yours most truly, "SOPHIA BROWNE." "I call that pathetic, I do," said Alf. "Pore ole girl," said Bill. "Seems a shame, don't it?" "Tell you what," Alf suggested, "we'll keep it nice an' clean an' send it 'er back when we've done with it. Don't seem fair, do it, not to?" "Well, you ain't started very well, 'ave you?" "What d'yer mean?" Bill leant forward and laid his finger on the open page, whose slightly yellowed surface was now adorned with a smudgy impress of Alf Higgins' unwashed thumb. For the rest of that day Bill devoted himself sternly to study. He found the story of Aladdin very long and full of irrelevant detail, but by night his task was ended. "Nice people they was in them times," he said, as he shut the book. "Kill you as soon as look at you. Alf, 'ere's a bit of advice for you. Whatever you do, mind you never send Eustace birds-nestin' for you." "Birds-nestin'?" "Yes. Seems it's the one thing 'e can't stick. Aladdin nearly upset the apple-cart that way. 'E asked for a rook's egg and Eustace turned nasty. Read for yourself." Alf plodded painfully through the passage. "Do R-O-C spell 'rook'?" he asked finally. "'Course it do," said Bill. "So now we'll 'ave to be careful. 'Tain't the kind o' thing a sensible bloke would ask for any'ow, but people do get silly fancies." "What else do the book say?" "Just what I told you. There's on'y one thing in this world you can't 'ave, my lad, an' that's this bloomin' rook's egg. Eustace'll rig you up a 'ouse in 'arf a tick as'll make Windsor Castle look like workmen's dwellin's. You've on'y got to say the word, an' there it is. So what we 'ave to do is to 'ave a real tip-top palace stuck down somewhere near this Ditchwater Park." "But 'ow can we?" "'Ow d'yer mean? Eustace'll do it." "Yes, but if we go plantin' palaces on other people's ground we'll get sent to clink, or something. Then we'd look silly."