"Yes, yes--but look at it! Those three boys! Billy, and Harry--and Andy! Andy! Well, of course, one knows they do do things, but somehow it's so hard to realise. I shall certainly stay for the meeting! Seymour, let me out!" Seymour got down in a leisurely fashion, hiding a yawn with one hand and a cigarette in the other. "I suppose there isn't a hotel in this place, Miss Flower?" he remarked. (Seymour always called the Nun "Miss Flower," never merely "Miss.") "Oh yes; the Lion, Seymour. Excellent hotel, isn't it, Mr. Rock? Kept by Mr. Dove, who's got a son named the Bird; and the Bird's got a friend named Chinks, and--" "Well, you do beat creation!" cried Jack. "How do you--?" "Secret sources of information!" said the Nun gravely. "Have I got to go to the Lion, Mr. Rock? Or--or what time do you have tea?" "You'll have tea with me, miss?" cried Jack. "At what hour will you require the car, Miss Flower?" asked Seymour. "You're goin' to the meetin', miss? Tell the young chap to be round at six, and mind he's punctual." "Do as Mr. Rock says, Seymour," smiled the Nun. It was part of the day's fun to hear Seymour ordered about--and called a young chap!--by the butcher of Meriton. But she could not get into the house without another look at the poster. "Billy, Harry--and Andy! I wonder if those boys really imagine that what they say or think matters!" Miss Flower was already a privileged person. Jack had no rebuke for her profanity. She took his arm, saying, "I want to see the shop. You wanted Andy to have the shop, didn't you?" "I was an old fool. I--I meant it well, Miss Flower." The Nun squeezed his arm. "Were these nice animals when they were alive, Mr. Rock?" "Prime uns, alive or dead!" chuckled Jack. "You come back to supper, after the meetin', miss, and taste; but maybe you'll be goin' back to London, or takin' your supper at Halton?" "I'm sorry, but I've promised to take Billy Foot back to town. Oh, but tea now, Mr. Rock!" Not even the messenger boy whom she had sent enjoyed Jack Rock's tea more than the Nun herself. For a girl of her inches, she ate immensely; even more heartily she praised. Jack could hardly eat at all, she was so daintily wonderful, her being there at all so amazing. Seeking explanation of the marvel, the simple affectionate old fellow could come only on one. She must be very fond of Andy! She had written to plead for Andy; she came and had tea with the old butcher--because he had given Andy help. And now she was lauding Andy, telling him in her quiet way that his lad was much thought of by her and her smart friends in London. Jack had, of course, a very inadequate realisation of what "smartness" in London really meant--a view which some might have called both inadequate and charitable. "Yes, he's a fine lad, miss. I say, the girl as gets Andy'll be lucky!" (That "as" always tripped Jack up in moments of thoughtlessness.)