"Not nearly long enough!" I responded. And I was right. If, upon leaving the Inn we had deluded ourselves with the idea of retiring from the public eye, we soon discovered our mistake. Our retreat was unearthed; our privacy intruded upon. At inopportune moments passers-by would appear ostensibly to inquire their way, obviously to get a glimpse of the actor "at play." It came to be an annoyance, especially after Will was caught in the act of clearing out a duck pond or helping Aaih to whitewash a chicken-house. When Will indulged in manual labour he relieved himself of all superfluous clothing. When a hero does this sort of thing on the stage he manages somehow to look pretty. But a matinée idol with streaks of whitewash laid across his sweating brow, sundry snaggs in disreputable trousers, a handkerchief around his neck with utter disregard of artistic effect, is a treat reserved for the bosom of his immediate family only. So, after repeated offences, whilom visitors were warned off by the threatening admonition--in more or less uneven lettering-- "PRIVATE PROPERTY--NO ADMITTANCE." Experience Dorset was Aaih's sister. She might have been his twin, so alike were they. The only apparent difference was that plainness in a man becomes homeliness in a woman. In so far as we were able to discover, Experience belied her name. True, she made delicious bread and crullers, and one never felt her apple dumplings after forty-eight hours, but, other than these, Experience's experience was as drab as her complexion. She was slow of speech--and exhaustive. Her invariable "Now, ma'am, what'll I fly at next?" was contradictory to her deliberation. Nothing ruffled her. In a temperamental family this asset is not to be despised. To Experience Will was an enigma. She confided to me, soon after allying herself with our household, that she was never sure when Will was making believe and when he was himself. She felt certain he must sometimes mix himself up. It was her way of explaining a dual personality. Will liked to play golf. Several times a week we tramped across the hills to the Club, some two miles distant. We never left the links without several girls in our train. It was impossible to shake them off. Sometimes they accompanied us to the house and sat on the porch to rest. Later they discovered that afternoon tea was an institution with me. I am sure that Experience enjoyed these little tea-parties as much as did the girls. Punctually at four o'clock she would appear on the porch, neatly dressed. With scissors in hand she raided the flower-beds for lady-slippers and clove-geranium with which to adorn the table. The stone jar in which she kept the cookies was never empty. And when the girls came trooping up the lane she was the first to hear them and to rouse Will from his siesta.