A soft rubber mask was pressed on Teddy’s face; it was not pleasant, but it did not hurt. Then came a roaring in his ears like the burn at Kingussie when it had rained more than usual. "A—bave Bittish—Guadaloupe, Martinique——" The burn had swept little Teddy away into oblivion, but even there the small hand was closed tightly over the soldier’s button. That night the doctor congratulated papa both upon the entire success of the operation and on the splendid military training he had given his little son. *XVIII* *PAUL AND THE PLAYWRIGHT* "I was eight yesterday," said Paul to Thor, "so this week’s different. I’m different. I’m older—five years older than you, dear, though you are so big." Thor wagged his tail and looked sympathetic. A deerhound contrives to express more by his looks than most humans, and Paul talked so continually to Thor that the great dog always seemed to understand. "So," Paul continued, "I think it’s time we went about a bit and looked for an adventure—like _him_, you know. We’ve been awfully good for ever so long. You haven’t stole anything, nor chased the sheep, nor ate anybody’s slipper, and I haven’t gone off for the day, or smacked Lucy, or read a book at meals. We’ve been sort of saints, and it’s time we did something, or we’ll be turning into kind of angels—and they always die, you know, and we’ve no time for that: we’ve got ever such a deal to see to. Come on, my dear, nobody wants us. Let’s walk and walk till we find somethin’ instastin’." Paul wasted no time in preparations. He didn’t even wait to put on his boots. He was already equipped with his favourite weapon, a smooth roller-like piece of wood about a foot long, which had originally been used as a support for photographs. They had been rolled round it for postal purposes. Paul annexed it when he was about three, christened it his "chuncheon" (in those days "r’s" were a difficulty,) and had treasured it ever since. Once Dorcas, the under-nurse, tidied it away in her excess of zeal, when his grief was so uncontrollable that the whole household turned out to hunt for it, and it was finally rescued from the dustbin by cook. Before setting out he would fain have divested himself of his smock, but a smock is a tiresome garment securely fastened at the back by means of treacherous little loops and buttons, quite too complex to be successfully tackled by the wearer. He did his best, however, to turn it into a doublet by tying a piece of string as tightly as possible round his waist, and through the string he thrust his trusty "chuncheon." He pulled his dilapidated cotton hat well over his eyes, and, lest any of the authorities should look out of the window and inquire his intentions, he set off down the drive very slowly, as though bound for nowhere in particular.