"Well, then they started down the stairs, and I went after them on my--scouting, you know. I made rather a noise at one corner, and Archie looked round at me, and said to Miss Blair: 'The tadpoles are out full early. See yonder where one lies basking.' And he came back, and put his foot on me and said, 'Nay, 'tis but a shadow. Let us return right hastily. Yet tarry a moment, what time I lay a false trail.' So they tarried and he wrote a note and dropped it on me. And, afterwards, I got up and here it is." "The secret despatch," cried Myra. "It's addressed to the Scoutmistress, and it says outside: 'Private, not to be opened till Christmas Day.'" Myra opened it and read: "Your blessed scouts are everywhere. Let me just have five minutes with her in the nursery, there's a dear. I'd do as much for you." But she didn't read it aloud, and I didn't see it till some time afterwards. She simply put it away, and smiled, and announced that the scouts would now adjourn to the billiard-room for pemmican and other refreshments; which they did. The engagement was announced that evening. CHAPTER VI IN AND OUT "Well," said Thomas, "how are we going to celebrate the joyful event?" We were sitting on the lawn, watching Blair and Miss Fortescue play croquet. Archie and Dahlia were not with us; they had (I suppose) private matters to discuss. Our match did not begin for another hour, happily for the lovers; happily also for the croquet-players, who had about fifty-six more hoops, posts, flags and what not to negotiate. "It's awfully difficult to realise it," said Myra. "My own brother! Just fancy--I can hardly believe it." "I don't think there can be any doubt," I said. "Something's happened to him, anyhow--he's promised to put me in first to-day." "Let's have a dance to-morrow night," continued Thomas, relentlessly pursuing his original idea. "And we'll all dance with Miss Blair." "Yes. Archie would like that." "I remember, some years ago, when I was in Spain," said Simpson---- "This," I murmured appreciatively, "is how all the best stories begin." And I settled myself more comfortably in my chair. "No," said Simpson, "I'm wrong there. It was in Hampstead." And he returned to his meditations. "Tell you what," said Thomas, "you ought to write 'em an ode, Simpson." "There's nothing that rhymes with the lady." "There's hair," I said quite unintentionally. "I meant with Dahlia." "My dear man, there are heaps. Why, there's azalea." "That's only one." "Well, there are lots of different kinds of azalea." "Any rhymes for Archie and Mannering?" said Simpson scornfully. "Certainly. And Simpson. You might end with him-- "'Forgive the way the metre limps on, It's always like that with Samuel Simpson.' You get the idea?" "Hush," said Myra, "Miss Fortescue has passed under a hoop."