"We’ll be great friends, I’m sure. You know Joe and Poll; this is Helen. Hilda, come and be introduced to my long-lost nephew. Regard me as your favourite aunt, my dear boy. Tell me," she whispered, "is that fat smiling gentleman in white your failed B.A.?" "That’s he: cook, khansaman, and major-domo. Said Mohammed, escort the ladies to their rooms." The Bengali approached, bowing to each in turn. "Esteemed madam and misses," he said, "deign to direct your footsteps to humble abode, or, as William Cowper beautifully says, your lodge in vast wilderness, with boundless contiguity of shade." The ladies preserved an admirable composure, and retired to the huts assigned to them. "Now, John," said Mrs. Burtenshaw, when they reappeared, "you must show us round this wonderful farm of yours. It looks very tidy, I must say. But where are your sheep? I thought you had hundreds, and there aren’t fifty in that pen." "They’re out at grass, cousin; you’ll see them come in by and by. There really isn’t much to see, you know. Cabbages and artichokes--’m; _topinambours_ is the name for ladies, says my cook--they’re just the same, here and at home. If you’d come a few months later, now, I might have shown you some zebras. I’m going to try and tame some." "Ah yes! I remember you threatened to meet your father on a striped charger, to match his striped trousers.... Who’s that funny-looking little object?" "That’s Bill, scout and huntsman, and a millionaire, as things are reckoned here. Come and see his ivory." "You’re a very rash and headstrong boy. The idea of going miles and miles after a set of thieves! I wonder you’re alive. A pretty settler, indeed!" "Well, cousin, I dare say I shall settle down now, with father to keep me in order. You see, we couldn’t have felt secure if----" "Don’t tell me! You’re just a madcap; if you were my son I should be in constant terror lest you were brought home one day a mangled corpse." "Look, mother," said Helen, "isn’t it a pretty sight?" The lambs were coming home, a great flock, covering the hollow between two gentle slopes. Their bleatings, heard faintly at first, became a deafening noise as they neared the farm. The observers noticed how they quickened their pace as they approached. Within the pen the ewes moved restlessly about, bleating calls to their young. When the lambs entered through the gate, they leapt forward frisking with delight, darted into the open pen, and sprang this way and that, each seeking its own dam. "Charming!" said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "What a pity sheep are so silly! Now take us to your dairy." ———— Said Mohammed’s cookery won general applause. "I envy you, Halliday," said Mr. Gillespie. "He’s worth his fifty rupees a month, isn’t he?" "You don’t have a dinner like this every day, I’m sure, John--French menu and all," said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "I should like the recipe for that _consommé à la Wanderobbo_."