We approached the dark demesne, which was now pretty decently clothed with potatoes, artichokes, rhubarb, raspberry-canes, marrows and even cucumber-frames. In the midst was a large open cask which filled itself by a pipe from a former six-inch water-hazard. Here James began to propound the mysteries. "The game," he said, "is a mixture of the old golf, tiddleywinks, ludo and the race game." "Not spillikins?" I protested. "A game I rather fancy myself at." "For your information, please," continued James in his kindliest military manner, "I may remark that a mashie is the club mostly used--except when it is necessary to keep low between, say, two clumps of potatoes." "So as not to rouse the wireworms," I nodded. "Yes--go on." "The conditions of the game are governed by the necessity of paying due respect to the vegetable hazards. There is only one hole on the course." "If you remember," I said, "I told you long ago that that was all there was room for, but you would persist in making it nine." "The hole," said James, "is the water-butt. You have to get into that. By the way, your balls are floaters, I hope?" "Only six of 'em," I said. "However, I dare say you won't mind if I grub up a few potatoes to carry on with afterwards. So we hole out in the water-butt? That's the tiddleywinks part of it, I suppose? Go on." "There are various penalties," he explained. "If you get among the potatoes, you add ten to your strokes and start again at the tee. If you are bunkered in the raspberries, you lift out--" "Step back three paces out of sight and pick one over your left shoulder?" I inquired hopefully. "I shall often find myself in the raspberry hazard." "And if," concluded James sternly, "you are so clumsy as not to avoid the cucumber-frames--" "Say no more," I begged. "I understand. I shall ask for the time-table, shake hands, thank you for a most delightful visit, and express my regrets that any little _contretemps_ should have arisen to hasten my departure." "--you add fifty to your strokes. Five for the marrows and the rhubarb--in each case returning to the tee." "And the artichokes," I asked, surveying a thick forest of them guarding the right flank of the water-butt--"what is their market value?" "No penalty," said James grimly, "except staying there till you get out." "One last piece of information. What is bogey for this hole?" "About two hundred, I think," said James; "but no doubt you'll lower it."