They had by this time come in full sight of the farm buildings which crowned the long slope; and beyond a kitchen-garden and an orchard rose a thatched roof with a row of old-fashioned lattice windows under it; the window at the end standing open. And out of this window at the edge of the block of building protruded a big black object, rigid and apparently cylindrical, thrust out above the garden and dark against the morning daylight. “A gun!” cried Pierce involuntarily; “looks just like a howitzer; or is it an anti-aircraft gun?” “Anti-airman gun, no doubt,” said Crane; “they heard you were coming down and took precautions.” “But what the devil can he want with a gun?” muttered Pierce, peering at the dark outline. “And who the devil is _he_, if it comes to that?” said the Colonel. “Why, that window,” explained Pierce. “That’s the window of the room they’ve let to a paying guest, I know. Man of the name of Green, I understand; rather a recluse, and I suppose some sort of crank.” “Not an anti-armament crank, anyhow,” said the Colonel. “By George,” said Pierce, whistling softly, “I wonder whether things really have moved faster than we could fancy! I wonder whether it’s a revolution or a civil war beginning after all. I suppose we are an army ourselves; I represent the Air Force and you represent the infantry.” “You represent the infants,” answered the Colonel. “You’re too young for this world; you and your revolutions! As a matter of fact, it isn’t a gun, though it does look rather like one. I see now what it is.” “And what in the world is it?” asked his friend. “It’s a telescope,” said Crane. “One of those very big telescopes they usually have in observatories.” “Couldn’t be partly a gun and partly a telescope?” pleaded Pierce, reluctant to abandon his first fancy. “I’ve often seen the phrase ‘shooting stars,’ but perhaps I’ve got the grammar and sense of it wrong. The young man lodging with the farmer may be following one of the local sports--the local substitute for duck-shooting!” “What in the world are you talking about?” growled the other. “Their lodger may be shooting the stars,” explained Pierce. “Hope their lodger isn’t shooting the moon,” said the flippant Crane. As they spoke there came towards them through the green and twinkling twilight of the orchard a young woman with copper-coloured hair and a square and rather striking face, whom Pierce saluted respectfully as the daughter of the house. He was very punctilious upon the point that these new peasant farmers must be treated like small squires and not like tenants or serfs. “I see your friend Mr. Green has got his telescope out,” he said. “Yes, sir,” said the girl. “They say Mr. Green is a great astronomer.”