I fell back on KING EDWARD VII., born November 9th, 1841. Twenty-three volumes of Goodworthy's _History of England_ should commemorate this. There had once been twenty-four, but the puppy ate one. Gratitude came by return of post, and I sat down in peace to await Christmas and a cheque. But on December 19th came another dreadful and splintery packing-case. Desperately I gouged it open. Out of it, through a cloud of shavings, emerged my own loathsome yellow-and-red Indian vase! No word with it--not a word, not a note. Not a funeral note. Rage overtook me. I disinterred Aunt Emily's own gramophone and records. I packed the horn anyhow. Such of the records as seemed difficult to get in I broke into small pieces and shoved in corners. I nailed the packing-case up with the same nails and addressed it in the boldest and fiercest of characters to Aunt Emily and caught the railway-van on the rebound. The deed was done. I laughed "Ha, ha!" I laughed "Ho, ho!" I would teach Aunt Emily to return me my own vase. Next morning came a letter. As I read it perspiration burst out on my forehead. Language the most awful burst from my lips. And yet it was a simple letter--from my little cousin Dolly. "DEAR BOB," it said,--"I sent you a yellow-and-red vase for Christmas. Your Aunt Emily gave it me as a wedding present. It is not my style and must be yours, because I have seen one like it in your house. Perhaps you collect them. Don't tell your Aunt, but I really couldn't bear it. I forgot to put any note in the box. Happy Christmas. "Love, DOLLY." And Aunt Emily would have opened my case by now. On Christmas Day I received a letter from her which I opened with cold and clammy fingers. She thanked me for sending back the gramophone. She was sorry I did not care for it. She was now sending it to a hospital for shell-shocked officers. And she wished me a Blithe Yuletide on a penny card. And she was very sincerely mine. Anyone can have her for aught I care. [Illustration: _Unsuccessful House-huntress_. "REALLY ONE SEES SO FEW OF THE SORT OF MEN WHO USED TO _BUILD_ HOUSES. WHY DOESN'T THE GOVERNMENT RELEASE MORE CORDUROY TROUSERS AND ENTICE THE LABOURERS BACK?"] * * * * * [Illustration: THE SUPER-HUMAN DOG. WHEN YOU CAME HOME ON LEAVE YOUR DOG, UNLIKE SOME HUMANS, NEVER EXPRESSED SURPRISE AT SEEING YOU _STILL IN ENGLAND_. NEVER INDULGED IN DEMOBILISATION TALK. OR HANDED OUT "CHESTNUTS." OR INTRODUCED YOU TO YOUR C.O. (ALSO ON PASS). OR BORED YOU WITH HIS OWN DOMESTIC TROUBLES ("LEFT A BOOT-JACK IN MY DRINKING-TROUGH, SHE DID"). OR INTRUDED HIS PRESENCE AT INOPPORTUNE MOMENTS. BUT SIMPLY WELCOMED YOU-- --IN HIS OWN-- --INIMITABLE MANNER.] * * * * * A SOUTH SEA BUBBLE. "I want you," said my hostess, "to take in Mrs. Blank. She is charming. All through the War she has been with her husband in the South Seas. London is a new place to her."