"They're all against Hughie. But I've tried to make the poor boy feel that he's at home, and dear Georgie will be coming very soon, which will make it pleasanter for Hugh, and I've thought of a nice way to manage Jimmie." "I think you worry yourself needlessly over Hugh, Mama; I can assure you he's perfectly capable of looking after himself." "I hope so," the old lady sighed. "All my patience came out beautifully this evening. So I hope Hughie will be all right. He seemed to think you were a little annoyed with him." "Did he tell you why?" "Not exactly, but I understand it was something to do with money. You mustn't be too strict with Hugh about money, John. You must always remember that he hasn't got all the money he wants, and you must make allowances accordingly. Ah, dear, peace on earth, good-will towards men! But I don't complain. I'm very happy here with my patience, and I dare say something can be done to get rid of the bees that have made a nest in the wall just under my bedroom window. They're asleep now, but when they begin to buzz with the warm weather Huggins must try and induce them to move somewhere else. Good-night, my dear boy." Next morning when John leaned out of his window to inhale the Hampshire air and contemplate his domain he was shocked to perceive upon the lawn below a large quadrangular excavation in which two workmen were actually digging. "Hi! What are you doing?" he shouted. The workmen stared at John, stared at one another, stared at their spades, and went on with their digging. "Hi! What the devil are you doing?" The workmen paid no attention; but the voice of Harold came trickling round the corner of the house with a gurgle of self-satisfaction. "_I_ didn't do it, Uncle John. I began geology last week, but I haven't dug up _anything_. Mother wouldn't let me. It was Uncle Hugh and Uncle Laurence. Mother knew you'd be angry when you saw what a mess the garden was in. It does look untidy, doesn't it? Huggins said he should complain to you, first thing. He says he'd just as soon put brown sugar on the paths as _that_ gravel. Did you know that Ambles is built on a gravel subsoil, Uncle John? Aren't you glad, because my geology book says that a gravel subsoil is the healthiest...." John removed himself abruptly out of earshot. "What is that pernicious mess on the front lawn?" he demanded of Hugh half-an-hour later at breakfast. "Ah, you noticed it, did you?" "Noticed it? I should think I did notice it. I understand that you're responsible."