"Oh, she--it's back there too. Miss Mayne's the Army. She's our governess, and her brother was killed in the retreat from Mons, so we always let her be the Army. He was in the Guards, and she only cried once; she'd be here now only Georgie--Georgina, you know, my sister--made her stop and pick blackberries. Georgina swanks rather nowadays when we have games--she usen't to, but she's getting old. Jane doesn't swank, only she got foul of some brambles, and she's coming on in her knickerbockers when she's got her skirt off." The dilatory advance of the remainder of the British Expeditionary Force having been satisfactorily explained, Cornelius James sat down and clasped his hands about his small scarred knees. His eyes were drawn and held by the magnetism of the lethal weapon which lay idly upon the man's knees. "Is that loaded?" he queried. "Yep." "What do you shoot with it--mostly--hereabouts?" From his tone the conversation might have been conducted in a country where tiger predominated among the fauna. "Rabbits," replied the other, adding after a pause: "sitting." He jerked open the breech of the miniature rifle, picked up the tiny shell that flicked out on to the turf and handed it gravely to his interrogator. Cornelius James accepted it with equal gravity. "Hullo!" he exclaimed. "What's up with your hand? Why is it all bandaged? Have you been wounded in the war?" Graeme Jakes surveyed the grubby folds of lint and the maimed fingers of his left hand. For the first time the shadow of a smile played about his mouth. "Yep. Long time ago. Nothin' much, only it wouldn't heal. Went bad on me. Bit of poison gas shell." "Oh," said the boy, and contemplated his new acquaintance with renewed interest. "Are you Army or Navy?" The man slid a cartridge into his rifle, closed the bolt and raised the weapon to his shoulder, resting his left elbow on his knee. A sharp report followed the instant's silence; the scut of a rabbit flicked white on the opposite slope and vanished. "Missed him!" ejaculated the sniper. "Generally do." He lowered the toy on to his knees again. "Navy," he continued as if nothing had interrupted the conversation. "Daddy's in the Navy too," exclaimed the boy. "Do you know him?--he's an Admiral." "Know him by name. Don't bump up against Admirals much." "I wish I was old enough to be in the Navy," sighed Cornelius James. "It's awful not being able to do anything in this war. Even Miss Mayne is going to do war work soon. She says every woman ought to do something." "Who--who's Miss Mayne?"