We walked across the main street of Mayberry, through the lane past the cricket field, on by the path over the pastures, and entered the great gate of the Manor, the gate with the Carey arms emblazoned above it. Then a quarter of a mile over rolling hills, with rare shrubs and flowers everywhere, brought us to the top of the hill at the edge of the little wood which these English people persisted in calling a “forest.” The first tee was there. You drove--if you were skillful or lucky--down the long slope to the green two hundred yards away. If you were neither skillful nor lucky you were quite as likely to drive into the long grass on either side of the fair green. Then you hunted for your ball and, having found it, wasted more or less labor and temper in pounding it out of the “rough.” At the first tee a man arrayed in the perfection of natty golfing togs was practicing his “swing.” A caddy was carrying his bag. This of itself argued the swinger a person of privilege and consequence, for caddies on those links were strictly forbidden by the Lady of the Manor. Why they were forbidden she alone knew. As we approached the tee the player turned to look at us. He was not a Mayberryite and yet there was something familiar in his appearance. He regarded us for a moment and then, dropping his driver, lounged toward me and extended his hand. “Oh, I say!” he exclaimed. “It is you, isn't it! How do you do?” “Why, Mr. Heathcroft!” I said. “This is a surprise.” We shook hands. He, apparently, was not at all surprised. “Heard about your being here, Knowles,” he drawled. “My aunt told me; that is, she said there were Americans at the rectory and when she mentioned the name I knew, of course, it must be you. Odd you should have located here, isn't it! Jolly glad to see you.” I said I was glad to see him. Then I introduced my companions. “Bayliss and I have met before,” observed Heathcroft. “Played a round with him in the tournament last year. How do, Bayliss? Don't think Miss Morley and I have met, though. Great pleasure, really. Are you a resident of Mayberry, Miss Morley?” Frances said that she was a temporary resident. “Ah! visiting here, I suppose?” “Yes. Yes, I am visiting. I am living at the rectory, also.” “Miss Morley is Mr. Knowles's niece,” explained Bayliss. Heathcroft seemed surprised. “Indeed!” he drawled. “Didn't know you had a niece, Knowles. She wasn't with you on the ship, now was she.” “Miss Morley had been living in England--here and on the Continent,” I answered. I could have kicked Bayliss for his officious explanation of kinship. Now I should have that ridiculous “uncle” business to contend with, in our acquaintance with Heathcroft as with the Baylisses and the rest. Frances, I am sure, read my thoughts, for the corners of her mouth twitched and she looked away over the course.