“It’s bitten, not bit. “No, it isn’t; it’s bit. . . . Perhaps he’s mad or something, and I’ll suddenly bark like a dog. I know they do. I read about it in ‘Hopes and Fears.’ You’re a horrid dog and I don’t care whether Jeremy sees you or not. Oh, Helen, you might help. It’s four o’clock and Jeremy will be nearly here.” Hamlet was free, free of Mary, but not of the room. The door behind him was closed. He sat there thinking, the piece of blue ribbon hanging loosely round his neck. Something was stirring within him—something that was not an appetite nor a desire nor a rebellion. A memory. He shook his head to escape from his ribbon. The memory came closer. From that too he would like to escape. He gazed at the door. Had he never smelt that alluring smell? . . . He slipped beneath the dining-room table, and, lying flat, resting his head on his paws, stared resentfully in front of him. The memory came closer. III Two hours later he was sitting in a ridiculous position two steps from the bottom of the hall stairs—ridiculous because the stair was not broad enough for his figure, because the blue ribbon was now firmly tied and ended in a large blue bow, because Mary’s hand was upon him, restraining him from his quite natural intention of disappearing. They were grouped about the stair, Helen and Mary, Barbara and the nurse, Mr. and Mrs. Cole and Aunt Amy in the hall below. Helen, Mary and Barbara were wearing cocked hats made of coloured paper and carried silver tissue wands in their hands. Barbara was eating her tissue paper with great eagerness and a vivid, absorbed attention. Helen looked pretty and bored; Mary was in a state of the utmost nervousness, clutching Hamlet with one hand while in the other she held a toy trumpet and a crumpled piece of paper. Everyone waited, staring at the door. Mr. Cole said: “Five minutes late. I must go back to my sermon in a moment.” Aunt Amy said: “I hope nothing can have happened.” Mrs. Cole said tranquilly: “We should have heard if it had.” The front door bell rang; a maid appeared from nowhere and opened the door. From the dusk there emerged a small, heavily coated figure. Mr. and Mrs. Cole moved forward. There were embraces. Mr. Cole said: “Well, my boy.” A husky voice was heard: “Oh, I say, mother, that old squeak of a cabman——” The short, thick-set figure turned towards the staircase. Instantly Mary blew on her trumpet. Barbara, suddenly disliking the tissue paper, began to cry. Hamlet barked. Through the din the quavering voice of Mary could be heard reading the poem of welcome: “Thee, returning to your home, Back from school and football too, Coming to us all alone, Mary, Helen and Barbara welcome you. Hail to thee, then, Jeremy dear, Over you we shed a tear Just because you are so dear. Welcome to your home.”