"Spell it!" commanded Aunt Susannah. Amanda obeyed, with increasing meekness. "Why do you call it 'goff' if there's an 'l' in it?" asked Aunt Susannah. "I--I'm afraid I don't know," said Amanda faintly. Aunt Susannah sniffed disparagingly. She condescended, however, to inquire into the nature of the game, and Amanda gave an elaborate explanation in faltering accents. She glanced imploringly at me; but I would not meet her eye. "Then you just try to get a little ball into a little hole?" inquired my relative. "And in the fewest possible strokes," Amanda reminded her, gasping. "And--is that all?" asked Aunt Susannah. "Y--yes," said Amanda. "Oh!" said Aunt Susannah. A game described in cold blood sounds singularly insignificant. We both fell into sudden silence and depression. "Well, it doesn't sound _difficult_" said Aunt Susannah. "Oh, yes, I'll come and play at ball with you if you like, my dears." "_Dear_ Auntie!" said Amanda affectionately. She did not seem so much overjoyed at her success, however, as might have been expected. As for me, I saw a whole sea of breakers ahead; but then I had seen them all the time. We drove out to the Links next day. We were both very silent. Aunt Susannah, however, was in good spirits, and deeply interested in our clubs. "What in the world do you want so many sticks for, child?" she inquired of Amanda. "Oh, they are for--for different sorts of ground," Amanda explained feebly; and she cast an agonised glance at our driver, who had obviously overheard, and was chuckling in an offensive manner. We both looked hastily and furtively round us when we arrived. We were early, however, and fortune was kind to us; there was no one else there. "Perhaps you would like to watch us a little first, just to see how the game goes?" Amanda suggested sweetly. "Not at all!" was Aunt Susannah's brisk rejoinder. I've come here to play, not to look on. Which stick----?" "_Club_--they are called clubs," said Amanda. "Why?" inquired Aunt Susannah. "I--I don't know," faltered Amanda. "Do you Laurence?" I did not know, and said so. "Then I shall certainly call them sticks," said Aunt Susannah decisively. "They are not in the least like clubs." "Shall I drive off?" I inquired desperately of Amanda. "Drive off? Where to? Why are you going away?" asked Aunt Susannah. "Besides, you can't go--the carriage is out of sight." "The way you begin is called driving off," I explained laboriously. "Like this." I drove nervously, because I felt her eye upon me. The ball went some dozen yards. "That seems easy enough," said Aunt Susannah. "Give me a stick, child." "Not that end--the _other_ end!" cried Amanda, as our relative prepared to make her stroke with the butt-end. "Dear me! Isn't that the handle?" she remarked cheerfully; and she reversed her club, swung it, and chopped a large piece out of the links. "Where is it gone? Where is it gone?" she exclaimed, looking wildly round.