The Lord Proprietor, gazing down from his terrace upon the twinkling waters of the roadstead, caught sight of a row-boat coming across from St. Lide's, and as it drew near, recognised its sole occupant for Sergeant Archelaus. He felt for his cigar case, chose and lit a cigar, and rested his elbows on the balustrade of the terrace, watching, while the old man brought his boat to the landing-quay, landed leisurely, and crossed the meadow to the foot of the gardens, where, at the pace he was keeping, one might allow him a couple of minutes at least before he re-emerged into view at the foot of the steps leading up to the terrace. But, as it happened, a bare fifty seconds elapsed before he came darting out of the boscage and scrambled up the stairway in a sweating hurry, two steps at a time. "You shouldn't, Sergeant; you really shouldn't--at your time of life," expostulated the Lord Proprietor, kindly, withdrawing the cigar from his mouth. "Then you shouldn't keep ostriches," retorted Sergeant Archelaus, as he gained the topmost step and, after a fearful glance behind him, sank against a pilaster and mopped his brow. "Take care of that urn!" cried the Lord Proprietor, in a warning voice. "It contains a _Phormium tenax_ that I wouldn't lose on any account." "A what?" "A New Zealand Flax.... The ostriches chased you, did they?" "They did--the pair of 'em. It goes against a man's stomach, too, being chased by a bird." "To me," said the Lord Proprietor, "it is gratifying evidence that they are recovering their spirits, which were hipped after the long voyage from Cape Town. But here, in the Gulf Stream, my theory is that we can acclimatise almost anything, animal or vegetable. Already they begin to feel its invigorating influence." "Talking of vegetables, sir"--Archelaus shifted a canvas bag from his shoulders to the ground and began to untie the string which bound its neck. "Pray take breath," suggested the Lord Proprietor. "At your age--and with the little exercise you get on Garrison Hill----" "We don't keep ostriches," said Archelaus, curtly. "But, talking of vegetables, the Governor sends his compliments to you, sir, and begs your acceptance of a few choice plants in return for the small clothes you lent me." "'Lent' you, Archelaus? 'Gave,' you mean." "Oh, sir, but--excuse me--I couldn't--there was them ostriches to be considered." "It has occurred to me," went on the Lord Proprietor, who was in the best of moods this morning, "that those--er--breeches might be a trifle conspicuous--a shade too highly pronounced in pattern--to be worn with uniform." "As for that, sir," answered Archelaus, tactfully, "life on the Islands isn't like active service, where a man has to be careful about exposing himself to marksmanship." "In Inverness a pattern like that would excite no comment." "I've never been there," said Archelaus.