“Oh, she will,” Laura assured him happily. “She always does what I want. I’ll get her to, directly after tea. Unless——” she glanced up at the heavy sky. “Oh, I oughtn’t to be talking. I must get on. I shall be so dreadfully late. If you’ll just tell me which road to take——” She paused. “I suppose—is it specially your haystack?” she hinted delicately. “Why?” “Because, if you didn’t mind—if you’d help me up—it’s so high——” Justin leant over good-naturedly and held out his hands to her. She caught at them and was swung up with a crow of delight. “You’re stronger than Mother!” He threw her gently from him on to the hay. “Here, don’t splash me all over. You’re as wet as the Thames.” For her dripping hair had whipped across his face. “Horrid, sergy wet!” She sniffed at herself in delicate disgust. “Well, and now you’re up, what do you want to do?” “There’s a cross-roads further on. I saw it from Beech Hill.” She tiptoed. “Yes, there! I couldn’t see from the road. D’you see? Through that tree—level with the nest. Which of them ought I to take?” “Where to?” “Why—I told you—the _Cœlestial City_.” “The _Cœlestial_—that’s in the _Pilgrim’s Progress_! Is it a game?” “A game!” She was disappointed at such futility in the big, pleasant-faced boy she was beginning to like. “As if——” Then she broke off, enlightened. “Oh, I see—you call it the Crystal Palace, too. So does Nurse. Shall I get there by tea-time, do you think?” “To the Crystal Palace? You! My good kid! Some one’s been pulling your leg. It’s miles to the Crystal Palace.” “Oh, no,” she assured him. “It’s only the enchantment that makes it look far. It’s close—it’s quite close, really. I saw it myself from Beech Hill—as bright as bright——” “Beech Hill!” He regarded the diminutive athlete incredulously. “You walked from Beech Hill today? By yourself? Rot!” “Oh, yes!” But he could see that his surprise or some thought of her own disquieted her. She jerked herself to her knees from the comfort of the hay. “I think I’ll be getting on now,” she said, with transparent politeness and a sidelong glance at him. Now Justin was placidly accustomed to take things as they came—rain, haystacks, or nixies interested in Humber bicycles. But as he examined her more closely, it was apparent even to his indifference that, for all her dishevelment, there must somewhere be a nursemaid in search of this particular nixie. Her shyness, rounded by courtesy, was not the mere coltishness of the village child. A vague sense of responsibility mingled in his mind with a good deal of amusement. “Hi! Stop a minute!” he called. “You! H.M.S. _Indomitable_!” “My name,” she flashed at him, “is Laura.” “And mine,” he countered, with a twinkle, “is Justin.” She gave him a wicked child’s grin. “Good-bye, Mr. Justin——” and whipped her legs over the side of the stack.