"It raises rather a nice point," said Mrs. Henry. The Reverend Henry returned resolutely to his book. The shouts of the newsvendor died away. "We must not forget," said the Reverend Henry irrelevantly, "that Cook is a Dissenter." Then suddenly he broke out. "I wish I knew," he said. "I am not paying the least attention to this book and I shan't sleep well, and I shall get up about two hours before the morning paper arrives, and be restive till I know whether the Belgians got out. But what am I to do? I can't ask Cook." "I might go down," his wife volunteered. "I needn't say anything about it, you know. I could just stroll about the kitchen and change the orders for breakfast. The paper is pretty sure to be lying about. There may be headlines." "No," said the Reverend Henry with determination, "I really cannot consent to it." "Well, I may as well go to bed. Don't sit up late." The Reverend Henry did sit up rather late. He was wide awake and ill at ease. At last he listened intently at the door and then took a candle and stole down the passage. The Reverend Henry had not been in his own kitchen for close upon ten years, and he did not know the way about very well. He had adventures and some moments of rigid suspense while the clatter of a kicked coal-scuttle died away in the distance. But when at last he crept noiselessly up-stairs he was assured of a good night's rest. "What a mess your hands are in," said Mrs. Henry sleepily. "Yes," said Henry. "That miserable woman had used it to lay the fire. But it's all right. They did get out--most of them." * * * * * Illustration: _Alf_ (_reading French news_). "ALL THE CINEMAS IN CALAIS ARE SHUT UP. MY WORD! THAT BRINGS THE HORRORS OF WAR PRETTY CLOSE TO HOME!" * * * * * "British Troops Fighting (Official)."--_Western Mail._ So the Censor has let the secret out at last, and the rumours of the last 70 days prove to be well founded. * * * * * "Five hundred German prisoners were landed in Dublin yesterday afternoon, and conveyed under escort to Templemore, County Tipperary."--_Newcastle Daily Journal._ It's a long, long way, but they've got there at last. * * * * * UNINTELLIGENT ANTICIPATION. "My dear," I said, "you are always proposing things, and then, when they are carried _nem. con._, you argue against your own proposal." "It's unfair to use Greek to me." "_'Nem. con._,'" I said, "is rich old Castilian and, put simply, means that nobody--I am nobody--objects." "But we can't afford a new tea-set." "Then why did you ask so many to tea at once?" "I didn't think," said Alison. "They are coming to make pyjamas for our soldiers in the trenches, and I simply thought that the more people came the more pyjamas there would be." "How many cups have we?"