At tea-time Philip was still holding coldly aloof. But while we were indoors Bennett, the gardener, caught him by some simple artifice beneath James's notice. I found him putting the truant back in his cage. "Don't do that, Bennett," I said. "Put him in Mr. James's trap. He's had a lot of trouble making that trap, and it's a pity to waste it." Bennett grinned a toothless grin at me and did some dialect, which I understood to mean that I might do as I liked, but that he (Bennett) was not going to catch no more birds for us. Hardly had I put Philip in the trap when James emerged. "Good Lord!" he shouted, "it's done it! He's in!" He dashed on to the lawn, wild with joy. Probably it was the first time any of his devices had succeeded. "Aha, my beauty," he cried, slipping his hand under the calico. "We've got you safe, have we?" We had not. There was a flash of red and grey, and the outraged Philip, minus a tail feather, sought the sanctuary of the woods. He is still absent without leave at the time of writing. * * * * * [Illustration: _Manager of Labour Exchange_ (_to man whom he has sent to a job for "an intelligent labourer to assist the demonstrator of tanks; one who can hold his tongue about the work"_). "WELL, MIKE, HOW'S EVERYTHING GOING?" _Mike_ (_confidentially_). "FAITH, BUT THEY'RE A DEAD FAILURE, SORR. WHY, THREE WEEKS I'VE BEEN ON THIM TANKS AND NIVER WAN HAS RIZ OFF THE GROUND YET."] * * * * * FURTHER REMINISCENCES. (_WITH ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO MR. GEORGE R. SIMS_). We come now to the beginning of the sixties. I well remember, early in the summer of one of them, Gentleman Dick--we called him this because his father had been a tramp, and, although he scarcely justified the maternal strain (his mother had been a washerwoman), he was certainly to all appearances his father's son--rushing in to tell me that "Blue Satin," the prize bull bitch belonging to the proprietor of that well-known tavern--public-houses were scarcely known in those days--"The Seven Sisters," had given birth to a son. This was an opportunity too good to be missed, and in spite of the bitter cold I hurried off with Gentleman Dick, who already had acquired no small reputation for his dexterity in hanging on to the backs of cabs, and ultimately secured "Albert the Good." If I had to christen a pup now I should naturally call him "Jellicoe the Brave." "Albert the Good" scarcely lived up to his name and eventually I had to get rid of him. He bit a piece out of a constable's leg. Sir J---- B----, the presiding magistrate at Bow Street, was most charming about it however, and gave me a seat on the bench during the constable's evidence.