Since the days when he ran shouting along the towing path at Oxford Mr. Wycherly had never run as he ran that morning to the potato patch at Remote. Montagu was hard put to it to catch him, but just managed it, and they arrived together before the astonished eyes of Miss Esperance, who saw them coming in such hot haste, and rested on her spade in fear and trembling as to what could have happened. When Mr. Wycherly did reach her he could not speak, so breathless was he: but he looked beseechingly at her and gently took the spade out of her hands. "Why?" he gasped, "Why?" His face worked strangely and he could say nothing more. Montagu stood watching him with solemn, puzzled eyes. But Miss Esperance understood. "You have come to help me," she said gently, "that is very kind of you. Montagu! away and get your wee spade and dig too." The little boy needed no second bidding, and flew to the tool-house. Mr. Wycherly hadn’t the faintest notion how to dig potatoes. He had never held a spade in his hands before, and held this much as a nervous person unaccustomed to firearms might hold a loaded gun. He looked helplessly at Miss Esperance, and still the lines were deep about his mouth and his eyes full of that new, dumb pain. "Watch Montagu!" she whispered reassuringly, "he’s a famous digger." Between them they dug quite a lot of potatoes, and Mr. Wycherly, himself, carried the heavy basket to Elsa at the back door. She took it from him without comment of any kind, but when he had gone round through the garden to get into the house by the front, she looked into the basket, exclaiming, "Now what put sic’ a whigmalerie as this in his head?" And it seemed as if the potatoes must have thrown some light upon the question, for in another minute she said softly, "Yon’s no a bad buddy." When Montagu went back to his lessons he found his tutor, with earthy hands clasped behind him, restlessly pacing up and down his room. "I think you’ve done enough this morning," said Mr. Wycherly. "You’d better go out and play while it is so fine and nice." "It’s not twelve o’clock yet," Montagu objected, "and I generally do lessons till twelve." "We shall have plenty of wet days by-and-by," Mr. Wycherly answered. "Go out now, and make the most of it while it is fine." "But Robina and Edmund’s gone, and Aunt Esperance is busy—won’t you come?" "Yes, I’ll come." But yet Mr. Wycherly made no move to get ready. "I’ve washed my hands," Montagu remarked virtuously. Mr. Wycherly started, unclasped his hands and held them out in front of him. "I fear," he said sadly, "that nothing will wash mine." A remark which puzzled Montagu extremely, for in a few minutes Mr. Wycherly returned from his bedroom with perfectly clean hands.