“It's Pax,” said Peter, dumping down the basket on the table. “Dr. Forrest has been talking scientific to me. No, it's no use my telling you what he said; you wouldn't understand. But it all comes to you girls being poor, soft, weak, frightened things like rabbits, so us men have just got to put up with them. He said you were female beasts. Shall I take this up to Mother, or will you?” “I know what BOYS are,” said Phyllis, with flaming cheeks; “they're just the nastiest, rudest--” “They're very brave,” said Bobbie, “sometimes.” “Ah, you mean the chap upstairs? I see. Go ahead, Phil--I shall put up with you whatever you say because you're a poor, weak, frightened, soft--” “Not if I pull your hair you won't,” said Phyllis, springing at him. “He said 'Pax,'” said Bobbie, pulling her away. “Don't you see,” she whispered as Peter picked up the basket and stalked out with it, “he's sorry, really, only he won't say so? Let's say we're sorry.” “It's so goody goody,” said Phyllis, doubtfully; “he said we were female beasts, and soft and frightened--” “Then let's show him we're not frightened of him thinking us goody goody,” said Bobbie; “and we're not any more beasts than he is.” And when Peter came back, still with his chin in the air, Bobbie said:-- “We're sorry we tied you up, Pete.” “I thought you would be,” said Peter, very stiff and superior. This was hard to bear. But-- “Well, so we are,” said Bobbie. “Now let honour be satisfied on both sides.” “I did call it Pax,” said Peter, in an injured tone. “Then let it BE Pax,” said Bobbie. “Come on, Phil, let's get the tea. Pete, you might lay the cloth.” “I say,” said Phyllis, when peace was really restored, which was not till they were washing up the cups after tea, “Dr. Forrest didn't REALLY say we were female beasts, did he?” “Yes,” said Peter, firmly, “but I think he meant we men were wild beasts, too.” “How funny of him!” said Phyllis, breaking a cup. * * * * * * “May I come in, Mother?” Peter was at the door of Mother's writing room, where Mother sat at her table with two candles in front of her. Their flames looked orange and violet against the clear grey blue of the sky where already a few stars were twinkling. “Yes, dear,” said Mother, absently, “anything wrong?” She wrote a few more words and then laid down her pen and began to fold up what she had written. “I was just writing to Jim's grandfather. He lives near here, you know.” “Yes, you said so at tea. That's what I want to say. Must you write to him, Mother? Couldn't we keep Jim, and not say anything to his people till he's well? It would be such a surprise for them.” “Well, yes,” said Mother, laughing, “I think it would.” “You see,” Peter went on, “of course the girls are all right and all that--I'm not saying anything against THEM. But I should like it if I had another chap to talk to sometimes.”