"If you would, dear, I should be most grateful," said Miss Ashington, beaming, and she stood still while Christobel undid the veil, took it off, and put it on again neatly over the brim of her wide hat. She stood still, but she talked earnestly all the time about land girls and farming, which was her special hobby at the moment. Adrian teased the King Charles. He hated it, and its way of making snuffling noises and barks like coughs. Auntie A. never noticed that the dog was being teased, but she heard the coughing barks, and said she must go home and give poor Charles some tea made from stewed herbs. She had invented the cure herself. She and Charles drank it--at least it was forced down the spaniel’s throat when he became extra snuffly. "I really think he ought to have something, Miss Ashington," said Adrian gravely, "he sounds as though he’d got congestion of the lungs, or bronchitis, doesn’t he, Crow?" Christobel said: "Oh no, I don’t think it’s as bad as that," reproachfully, but Miss Ashington turned homeward; she was pulling the edge of her veil--already it was coming slowly down. "Of course you want to know about poor little what’s-his-name," she said, drifting on from the farm questions. "I sent to inquire, because the milk boy told Mrs. Homer about the affair. Dear Pamela seems to have rescued the child in a most heroic manner. So difficult to climb up cliff’s with a boy on your back----" "On her back," echoed Christobel in a surprised tone. "Mrs. Ensor--or somebody--Oh yes, little Joe said she was carrying the child on her back, and he was unconscious. Really, you know, my dear children, I think steps should be taken to obtain the Humane Society’s medal for dear Pamela." "Isn’t that to do with drowning, though?" murmured Crow. "Well, dear, the child _would_ have been drowned had he fallen from the Beak. It is practically the same thing. I will write to my brother and put the matter before him--something really must be done. I feel that we ought not to lose sight of your sister’s courageous act. Sir Marmaduke would, I am certain, be the first to insist----" She was stopped suddenly by finding herself entangled in the lead. Charles had gone twice round a tree stem. "Really," murmured Auntie A., "really, this is _most_----" the rest of the protest was lost in the folds of the veil which was coming off the brim of her hat again. Adrian picked up Charles and, walking backwards twice round the tree trunk, set the confusion clear. Miss Ashington did not laugh--she had not the faintest sense of humour, but a very large heart. She beamed with gratitude from a space between the veil and the hat. "Thank you, dear Adrian, how good of you. We must go home. I feel convinced poor Charles is not himself." Charles was not himself, if his normal condition was good temper. He was enraged with his persecutor and the worst of it was that he found it impossible to explain, except in snuffles, which did not count.