The rest of us broke up into convenient groups and tennised or walked, but by the middle of the afternoon a drowsiness came over us, superinduced by our sleepless night, and with the exception of Ethel and Mrs. Benedict, who were helping prepare dinner, we all slept, some in hammocks, one on the ornate sofa and the rest in the three bedrooms. And then, just before dinner, Tom and Hepburn not having come, we all went out to look for them. It ought not to have taken them long to buy two cot beds and bring them up, and they had been gone four hours at least. We walked upwards of a mile toward town, and at last came to a rock, from the top of which we could command a view of the rest of the road to Egerton, but there was no sign of Bert’s wagon. “Well,” said Ethel, “we’d better be starting back, for dinner ought to be ready soon.” And so we sauntered back, expecting every minute to be overtaken by the cot bringers. We arrived at the house and all entered by the south door, attracted thereto by the recumbent figures of our truants. Each one was reclining gracefully upon a cot reading, and smoking excellent cigars. “Here, here,” said Tom, when he saw us. “This will never do. Dinner’s ready this ten minutes, and Hepburn and I are starving.” As soon as Hepburn had seen us he had risen from his couch, but Tom continued to lie there blocking the doorway. “What about that lean-to,” said I. Tom rose and folded up his cot as an Arab is supposed to fold his tent. Then he set it up against the side of the house and said oracularly: “The lean-to is indefinitely postponed. We know _more_ than we did this morning.” “Well, but where have you been? We walked half way to town and didn’t see you,” said Ethel. “Exploring the country. Haven’t we, Talcott.” “It’s a beautiful country,” said Talcott, laughing. All through dinner those two seemed to have a secret, and as near as we could make out, Minerva was in it, because every time she came into the room and looked at Tom she smothered chuckles. After dinner Tom said, “Mrs. Vernon, what do you say to our taking our coffee in the summer house?” “In the summer house,” said Ethel, “why, there isn’t any summer house.” “Well, whatever you call it, then. Minerva, you bring it to us there.” Minerva broke out into childlike laughter. “All right, sir, I will.” Then she looked at her mistress and said, “Kin I do it, ma’am.” Ethel shook her head at Tom and said,