"Talking of kill or cure," exclaimed the Major, jumping up, "did I ever repeat my tale of the Hessian captain?" "Probably," said Mr. Moon mildly. "What do you mean, sir?" "You are somewhat inclined to repetition, sir." Mrs. Courteen hurriedly assured Major Tarry that she for one had positively never heard it. "He did not say 'have you heard my story, ma'am,' the Justice went on in the calm voice of despair. "He said 'have I repeated it?' I merely remarked that he probably has--dozens of times!"--Mr. Moon burst out in the nearest approach to a passionate enunciation that he ever attained. "I vow you do him an injustice. Pray tell us the story, Major," and the widow tapped the sword-arm of the infuriated soldier three times. The painted chicken-skin fell with so persuasive a touch that the Apple sank to its normal position and, having turned his back on Mr. Moon, the Major began his tale. "Well, Madam, you must know that in the year ... but before I tell this story, I should like to give you some idea of the disposition of his Majesty's forces." Mrs. Courteen sighed. She knew what giving an idea of the disposition of the forces meant. It was useless to protest however, for the Major was already marching round the room in search of appropriate furniture. He instantly declared that Mr. Moon's chair was necessary to the illustration. "Pray excuse me, sir!" he rapped out. The Justice, with a reproachful glance at Mrs. Courteen, moved ponderously to the couch. "Well, Madam, here are Thistleton's Dragoons," and he gave a twist to the chair as he spoke. "Oh, yes! Very droll!" said Mrs. Courteen. "Here," the Major continued, seizing another chair and planting it vigorously down by the couch, "here is Buckley's Foot." "Mine, sir," said the Justice. "Your what, sir?" "My foot, sir, not Buckfeast's." The Major withered his rival with an eloquent silence. "Here am I," he said, snatching from the mantelpiece a diminutive Worcester shepherdess and placing it between the two chairs. The widow gazed anxiously at the pastoral soldier. It belonged to the owner of the house. "Here is Tournai. You'll pardon me, sir, but I should be obliged if you would hand me the couch," said the Major fiercely. The Justice moved wearily to the window-seat. That, at all events, was a fixture, he reflected gratefully. After much exertion Tarry succeeded in moving the couch in front of the door, so that if the piece of furniture in question was a poor representation of what it was intended to convey, it certainly made of Mrs. Courteen's front parlour something very like an impregnable fortress. "I should be glad to give you some idea of the enemy's earthworks," said the Major with a covetous glance in the direction of the chintz window-curtains.