Such was Peter's family. It may help you to understand Peter, who, if he feared God, certainly regarded not man. Now the Flying Corps captain had promised Peter that he would let him see the new Lewis machine-gun. It is a type of gun specially designed for aircraft, rather big in the bore, worked by a trigger-handle, and it makes a noise like the back-firing of a motor-car of 100 horse-power. It plays no great part in this story, except that it was the cause of my obtaining a glimpse of Peter's private correspondence. For, after the Captain had discharged his gun at a hedge and made a large rabbit-burrow in it, Peter proceeded to pick up the cartridge-cases, which lay thick as catkins. This interested me, as Peter already had a pocketful. "What do you want all those for, Major Peter?" I asked. "Well, you see," said Peter, "the kids at school"--Peter now calls other boys of the same age as himself "kids," on the same principle that a West African negro who is rising in the world refers to his fellows as "niggers"--"keep on bothering me to send them things, and a fellow must send them something." He pulled a crumpled letter, to which some chocolate was adhering with the tenacity of sealing-wax, out of his pocket. "That's from Jackson minor," he said. "Cheek, isn't it?" I began reading the letter aloud. DEAR OLD PAN--You must be having a ripping time. I see your letter is headed "The Front" ... I looked at Peter. He was blushing uncomfortably. ... so I suppose you've seen a lot. The whole school's fritefully bucked up about you, and we're one up on Fenner's.... "What's Fenner's?" I said to Peter. "Oh, that's another school at Beckenham. They're stinkers. Put on no end of side because some smug of theirs won a schol' at Uppingham last term. But we beat them at footer."