"The next game is ours, Mr. Dysart, remember," says she, glancing at Dysart over her shoulder. There is a touch of anxiety in her eyes. "I _always_ remember," says he, with a rather ambiguous smile. What is he remembering now? Joyce's mouth takes a grave curve as she follows Beauclerk down the marble steps that lead to the tennis-ground below. The evening has grown very still. The light wind that all day long has sung among the leaves has gone to sleep. Only the monotonous countings of the tennis players can be heard. Suddenly above these, another sound arises. It is _not_ the voice of the charmer. It is the voice of Tommy in full cry, and mad with a desire to gain the better of the argument now going on between him and Mr. Browne. Mr. Browne is still, however, holding his own. He generally does. His voice grows eloquent. _All_ can hear. "I shall tell my story, Tommy, in my own way, or I shall not tell it at all!" The dignity that Mr. Browne throws into this threat is hardly to be surpassed. CHAPTER IX. "Sweet food of sweetly uttered knowledge." "Tisn't right," says Tommy. "_I_ think it is. If you kindly listen to it once again, and give your entire attention to it, you will see how faulty is the ignorant conclusion to which you have come." "I'm not one bit ignorant," says Tommy indignantly. "Nurse says I'm the dickens an' all at my Bible, and that I know Genesis better'n _she_ does." "And a very engaging book it is too," says Mr. Browne, "but it isn't everything. What _you_ want to study, my good boy, is natural history. You are very ignorant about that, at all events." "A cow _couldn't_ do it," says Tommy. "History says she can. Now, listen again. It is a grand old poem, and I am grieved and distressed, Thomas, to find that you refuse to accept it as one of the gems of truth thrown up to us out of the Dark Ages. Are you ready? "'Diddle-dee, diddle-dee dumpty, The cow ran up the plum-tree. Half-a-crown to fetch her----'" "She _didn't_--'twas the _cat_," cries Tommy. "Not in _my_ story," says Mr. Browne, mildly but firmly. "A cow _couldn't_ go up a plum-tree," indignantly. "She could in _my_ story," persists Mr. Browne, with all the air of one who, even to avoid unpleasantness, would not consent to go against the dictates of his conscience. "She _couldn't_, I tell you," roars Tommy, now thoroughly incensed. "She couldn't _climb_. Her horns would stick in the branches. She'd be too _heavy_!" "I admit, Thomas," says Mr. Browne gravely, "that your argument sounds as though there were some sense in it. But who am I that I should dare to disbelieve ancient history? It is unsafe to throw down old landmarks, to blow up the bulwarks of our noble constitution. Beware, Tommy! never tread on the tail of Truth. It may turn and rend you." "Her name isn't Truth," says Tommy. "Our cow's name is Biddy, and she never ran up a tree in her life."