"Nothing much, except that Austria's just sent an ultimatum to Servia. Seems the Austrian Grand Duke's been assassinated, and Austria believes the Servians were in it. Anyhow, they've got to knuckle down by six o'clock to-night or they'll be jolly well walloped. But of course they'll give in when they're up against Austria.... I see these writing chaps are doing their best to work up a scare, though. Here's one of 'em actually saying it may 'plunge all Europe into War.' Good old Armageddon coming off at last, I suppose. How they can write such tommy-rot!" "It's only to send up their circulation," said Mr. Wibberley-Stimpson. "Depend upon it, there'll be no War. None of the Powers want it--too expensive in these days. They'll see that it's settled without fighting. And even if they can't, _we_ shan't be dragged in--we shall just let 'em fight it out among themselves, and when it's over we shall come in for a share of the pickings!" "Well," said Clarence, as he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it away, "we needn't worry ourselves about Armageddon--got something more serious to think about." "What do you mean, Clarence?" inquired his mother uneasily. "Why," he said, "it seems we've been away about four months. We can explain now why Miss Heritage hasn't come back with us. She's made that all right by her letter--and a trump she was to think of it! But what are we going to say when people want to know--and you can bet they _will_--where we've been all this time and what we've been doing?" "We can simply tell them we have been temporarily occupying exalted positions in a foreign country which we are not at liberty to mention," suggested Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson hopefully. "We _could_," he said; "and the reply we should get would probably be 'Rats.' They might put it more politely--but that's what it would amount to. Believe me, you'll never make people here swallow you and the governor as the late King and Queen of Fairyland--it's a jolly sight too thick! Besides, there's nothing particular in what we've done there to brag about--what?" "_I_ at least have nothing to reproach myself with," said his mother virtuously. "Still I agree with you, Clarence, that perhaps it _would_ be better if we could give some account of ourselves which would sound a little less improbable." "We shall have to invent one. And as soon as we've done breakfast I vote we put our heads together and fake something up. But, whatever it is, we must all remember to stick to it!" And after long and strenuous cogitation, the Stimpson family managed to construct a fairly plausible story of an unexpected summons to a remote part of the world, in which they were obliged by circumstances to remain without any facilities for informing their friends of their situation.