"This is rather a tearful corner of the grounds," apologised Miss Atherley. "We'll show you something brighter directly. Look there--that's the oak in which King Charles lay hid. At least, it will be when it's grown a bit." "Let's go on to the shrubbery," said Mrs. Atherley. "We are having a new grass path from here to the shrubbery. It's going to be called Henry's Walk." Miss Atherley has a small brother called Henry. Also there were eight Kings of England called Henry. Many a time and oft one of those nine Henrys has paced up and down this grassy walk, his head bent, his hands clasped behind his back; while behind his furrowed brow, who shall say what world-schemes were hatching? Is it the thought of Wolsey which makes him frown--or is he wondering where he left his catapult? Ah! who can tell us? Let us leave a veil of mystery over it ... for the sake of the next visitor. "The shrubbery," said Mrs. Atherley proudly, waving her hand at a couple of laurel bushes, and a--I've forgotten its name now, but it is one of the few shrubs I really know. "And if you're a gentleman," said Miss Atherley, "and want to get asked here again, you'll always _call_ it the shrubbery." "Really, I don't see what else you could call it," I said, wishing to be asked down again. "The patch." "True," I said. "I mean, Nonsense." I was rather late for breakfast next morning; a pity on such a lovely spring day. "I'm so sorry," I began, "but I was looking at the shrubbery from my window and I quite forgot the time." "Good," said Miss Atherley. "I must thank you for putting me in such a perfect room for it," I went on, warming to my subject. "One can actually see the shrubs--er--shrubbing. The plantation too seems a little thicker to me than yesterday." "I expect it is." "In fact, the tennis lawn----" I looked round anxiously. I had a sudden fear that it might be the new deer-park. "It still is the tennis lawn?" I asked. "Yes. Why, what about it?" "I was only going to say the tennis lawn had quite a lot of shadows on it. Oh, there's no doubt that the plantation is really asserting itself." Eleven o'clock found me strolling in the grounds with Miss Atherley. "You know," I said, as we paced Henry's Walk together, "the one thing the plantation wants is for a bird to nest in it. That is the hallmark of a plantation." "It's Mother's birthday to-morrow. Wouldn't it be a lovely surprise for her?" "It would indeed. Unfortunately this is a matter in which you require the co-operation of a feathered friend." "Couldn't you try to persuade a bird to build a nest in the weeping ash? Just for this once." "You're asking me a very difficult thing," I said doubtfully. "Anything else I would do cheerfully for you; but to dictate to a bird on such a very domestic affair---- No, I'm afraid I must refuse."