"I agree with you." "I wish you wouldn't. I've a sweet temper, but I can't stand being agreed with. And I'm so worried about the aasvogel." Reginald stared dismally at the biscuit-tin, which now presented an unattractive array of rejected cracknels. "I believe," he murmured, "if I could find a woman with an unsatisfied craving for cracknels, I should marry her." "What is the tragedy of the aasvogel?" asked the Other sympathetically. "Oh, simply that there's no rhyme for it. I thought about it all the time I was dressing--it's dreadfully bad for one to think whilst one's dressing--and all lunch-time, and I'm still hung up over it. I feel like those unfortunate automobilists who achieve an unenviable motoriety by coming to a hopeless stop with their cars in the most crowded thoroughfares. I'm afraid I shall have to drop the aasvogel, and it did give such lovely local colour to the thing." "Still you've got the heedless hartebeest." "And quite a decorative bit of moral admonition--when you've worried the meaning out-- 'Cease, War, thy bubbling madness that the wine shares, And bid thy legions turn their swords to mine shares.' Mine shares seems to fit the case better than ploughshares. There's lots more about the blessings of Peace, shall I go on reading it?" "If I must make a choice, I think I would rather they went on with the war." REGINALD'S CHOIR TREAT "Never," wrote Reginald to his most darling friend, "be a pioneer. It's the Early Christian that gets the fattest lion." Reginald, in his way, was a pioneer. None of the rest of his family had anything approaching Titian hair or a sense of humour, and they used primroses as a table decoration. It follows that they never understood Reginald, who came down late to breakfast, and nibbled toast, and said disrespectful things about the universe. The family ate porridge, and believed in everything, even the weather forecast. Therefore the family was relieved when the vicar's daughter undertook the reformation of Reginald. Her name was Amabel; it was the vicar's one extravagance. Amabel was accounted a beauty and intellectually gifted; she never played tennis, and was reputed to have read Maeterlinck's _Life of the Bee_. If you abstain from tennis _and_ read Maeterlinck in a small country village, you are of necessity intellectual. Also she had been twice to Fecamp to pick up a good French accent from the Americans staying there; consequently she had a knowledge of the world which might be considered useful in dealings with a worldling. Hence the congratulations in the family when Amabel undertook the reformation of its wayward member. Amabel commenced operations by asking her unsuspecting pupil to tea in the vicarage garden; she believed in the healthy influence of natural surroundings, never having been in Sicily, where things are different.