The other small figure followed him at a humble distance, wailing aloud till both disappeared from view. Mr. Fothersley shuddered. “How can you bear it?” he asked, his little pink face really concerned. “Even Dick——” “Stopped short at Germans,” Ruth ended for him. “Well, it has its compensations. And after all, what _can_ one do? I know that playground under the dust soot! And I have all this. One could not bear it, if one didn’t have them down.” “How many?” asked Mr. Fothersley faintly. Ruth leant back against the gate and gave way to helpless laughter, while Mr. Fothersley prodded holes in the bank with his stick and waited with dignity till she should recover. He saw nothing to laugh at. “I beg your pardon,” said Ruth, hurriedly suppressing what she felt from his manner was most unseemly mirth. “I only have two at a time,” she added appeasingly. “And they are really very good on the whole.” “I should relegate them to the back garden,” said Mr. Fothersley decisively. “I remember as a child even _I_ was never allowed to run wild where I pleased. Good heavens! what is that noise?” He cocked an attentive ear, as a sound, like nothing he had ever heard before, made itself evident. At the same moment, over the crest of the lawn appeared a wonderful procession. First came the small female figure in knickers, brandishing in her right hand a crimson flag, while with the left she held a small tin trumpet to her lips, with which at intervals she blew a breathless note. The same which had attracted Mr. Fothersley’s attention. Then, strapped into his go-cart, and positively smothered in flags and flowers, came Bertram Aurelius. Finally, pushing the go-cart with somewhat dangerous vigour, the small Lord of the Show. Around the procession, leaping and barking, skirmished Sarah and Selina, while beside the go-cart Larry padded sedately, snuffing the air delicately, waving a stately tail. The procession circled the lawn at the full speed of the children’s small legs, dropped over into the garden pathway and disappeared towards the farmyard. Mr. Fothersley softened. The scene had been a pretty one. “Quite like one of the delightful illustrations in the children’s books of to-day,” he said, smiling. “Please don’t think me unsympathetic, dear lady. A love of children is one of the most beautiful traits in a woman’s character, and philanthropy has also its due place. But do not be carried away by too much enthusiasm. Do have, as I used to say to poor Dick, a due sense of proportion. Otherwise you will only get imposed upon, and do no good in the long run. Believe me, you have gone quite far enough with these innovations, and do let it stop there before you have cause for regret.”