The Colonel shook his head and frowned severely, staring hard at his son. But though their eyes met, the boy hardly saw him. Far away at the other end of the dark Tunnel of the Months he saw the white summer sunshine lying over gardens full of nodding flowers. Butterflies were flitting across meadows yellow with buttercups, and he saw the fascinating rings upon the lawn where the Fairy People held their dances in the moonlight; he heard the wind call to him as it ran on along by the hedgerows, and saw the gentle pressure of its swift feet upon the standing hay; streams were murmuring under shady trees; birds were singing; and there were echoes of sweeter music still that he could not understand, but loved all the more perhaps on that account.... "Yes," announced the Colonel later that evening to his wife, spreading his hands out as he spoke. "Yes, my dear, I _have_ made a discovery, and an alarming one. You know, I'm rarely at fault where the children are concerned--and I've noted all the symptoms with unusual care. James, my dear, is an imaginative boy." He paused to note the effect of his words, but seeing none, continued: "I regret to be obliged to say it, but it's a fact beyond dispute. His head is simply full of things, and he talked to me this evening about tunnels and slippery moonlight till I very nearly lost my temper altogether. Now, the boy will never make a man unless we take him in hand properly at once. We must get him a governess, or something, without delay. Just fancy, if he grew up into a poet or one of these--these----" In his distress the soldier could only think of horse-terms, which did not seem quite the right language. He stuck altogether, and kept repeating the favourite gesture with his open hand, staring at his wife over his glasses as he did so. But the mother never argued. "He's very young still," she observed quietly, "and, as you have always said, he's not a bit like other boys, remember." "Exactly what I say. Now that your eyes are opened to the actual state of affairs, I'm satisfied." "We'll get a sensible nursery-governess at once," added the mother. "A practical one?" "Yes, dear." "Hard-headed?" "Yes." "And well educated?" "Yes." "And--er--firm with children. She'll do for the lot, then." "If possible." "And a young woman who doesn't go in for poetry, and dreaming, and all that kind of flummery." "Of course, dear." "Capital. I felt sure you would agree with me," he went on. "It'd be no end of a pity if Jimbo grew up an ass. At present he hardly knows the difference between a roadster and a racer. He's going into the army, too," he added by way of climax, "and you know, my dear, the army would never stand _that_!" "Never," said the mother quietly, and the conversation came to an end.