I have to warn you that the early chapters of _The_ _Moulding Loft_ (METHUEN) are liable to plunge you into some mental agitation, due to the author's deliberately baffling method of starting her plot. The hero, for example, is introduced to us abed, and semi-delirious, waited upon by a pale and sinister young female whom he detests. He appears to be in a house strange to him, which contains also an unpleasant old woman and a queer little boy whose behaviour is wrop in mystery. Slowly, perhaps somewhat too slowly, it is revealed that the hero has been knocked silly by a large stone dropped upon his unoffending head by the small boy. But why? And why does the child protest his innocence with such apparent good faith? These problems I must leave MARGARET WESTRUP (Mrs. W. STACEY) to resolve in her own unhurried way. Of course before long the "little aversion" between hero and heroine gives place to an emotion more appropriate. But there remains an obstacle to their union, one concerned (also, of course) with the detestable grandmother and the mysterious small boy. Shall I give you one clue? Somebody is mad; nor is it (as you may at one time have been tempted to suppose) either the author or reader. More than this wild horses should not extort from me. But I confess to a rewarding thrill and a very grateful relief when the mystery was finally cleared up. A good and interesting book, both for its plot and for some very agreeable Cornish scenes, which would have been even more welcome had the delectable Duchy not already engaged the pens of our novelists more than enough. * * * * * Mrs. "J.E. BUCKROSE" is one of those writers whose work can always be depended upon. A pinch of pathos, a _soupcon_ of sentiment, a spice of humour--there you have the recipe, and a very palatable mixture it makes. The common element that pervades the dozen stories which compose _War-Time in Our Street_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON), all in the author's best manner, is the staunch devotion to duty displayed by her heroines under stress of war. Pangs of hunger are endured nobly, hard-hearted folk are softened, lonely women fight and win the battle against depression. If these pictures of life behind the windows of our village streets are too _couleur de BUCKROSE_ to be quite true, there is nevertheless a real quality in them. They are not for the cynic, but for readers who can appreciate simple tales of simple people, told without affectation. * * * * * [Illustration: _The Airman._ "I SAY, HAVE YOU SEEN A CIGARETTE-HOLDER ANYWHERE ABOUT? I DROPPED MINE YESTERDAY WHEN I WAS FLYING OVER THIS PLACE."] * * * * *