They huddled up together on the straw, with Erica in the middle. It was to Duane, Kitty noted with some surprise, that the child turned for comfort and protection, and the bigger girl seemed to respond with a queer, sympathizing tenderness that Kitty had never dreamed her capable of. "I thought you two were ancient and bitter enemies," she said with a laugh. "I thought I hated Duane once," responded the child with quaint gravity. "But I don't now. It was very silly of me. Duane is a dear," with an affectionate, almost passionate hug. "Duane is an ass," said that person herself, "and Kitty is one too, to let two lamps go on burning when one would do." "You made a rhyme," murmured Erica sleepily. "Oh, there's nothing I can't do if I like to try," said Duane modestly. "You know, I didn't say what kind of an ass I was, did I?" "No. What kind are you?" "A geni-ass." "Oh! You are silly!" A gleam of fun struggled with the sadness in the child's face. "And I'm a horrid little pig, that's what I am." "What rubbish!" said Duane hastily. "I say, Kitty, you haven't gone to sleep, have you? Do you know it's not much past seven o'clock?" "Is that all? How awful! No, I don't feel a bit sleepy." She tried to imitate Duane's gay, careless flippancy. "What shall us do?" "Well, something fairly primitive. Not even as elaborate as 'noughts and crosses,' seeing we've neither pencil nor paper." "Nor much light to see with," added Kitty. "We shall have to pretend we're Indians in a wigwam." "Or Eskimos in a snow hut. I hope you're warm enough, little Eskimo?" "Oh, yes, I'm lovely and warm now," replied Erica. "We are disciples of the Simple Life," continued Duane. "What could be a simpler way of living than this? Erica, think how years hence you'll tell your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren how you were lost on the downs and spent the night in a wooden hut with the howling of savage wolves outside, thirsting for your blood." "But that would be an awful whopper," objected Erica. "There aren't any wolves left in England." "Aren't there? What a pity! However, to come back to our original question. What shall we do to pass away the time?" "You and Kitty can tell stories," suggested Erica brilliantly. "Good gracious! But I don't know any," protested Kitty in alarm. "Can't you tell one out of your head?" "But how can I, when there aren't any in there?" "Well, Duane will, then." "Very well," said Duane resignedly. "What sort of a story do you want?" "I don't mind." "It'll have to be a nonsensical one then. I couldn't tell a sensible one in a senseless place like this. No genius could. Let me see," thoughtfully, "did I tell you the story of my uncle?" "No."