THE inferior son of the Maxwells was wretchedly throwing a ball against the side of the house, on the same morning that Hal went on Aunt Lavvy’s errand, and the Watson babies drove Miss Roberts and her pupils into the drawing-room. He was remembering with apprehension a large and cleverly comical caricature which he had executed in brushwork on the inside of the lid of his late form-master’s desk, representing that gentleman himself saying waggishly: “Believe me, my boy, this is going to hurt you much more than it hurts me!”--a perversion of the popular sentiment which he had picked up from one of Saki’s books, and which he used “at least three hundred and sixty-four times a year more than it was funny!” as Bunny savagely put it. But Bunny’s report had revealed, when his father opened it, that his late form-master was not going to be late at all--in fact, that Bunny had not got his remove; which was quite bad enough in itself without the additional trouble of the caricature which would be discovered in Bunny’s presence on the first day of the coming term. And then there was the matter of the unpaid tuck-shop bill, which the proprietor had threatened to send in to Mr. Maxwell unless settled by the end of the holidays. Bunny for the moment did not feel at all handsome and dare-devil, which was how he best liked to see himself--not discouraged by the fact that the best sort of boy does not possess the faculty for seeing himself in any guise. One of Hal’s favourite stories against his younger brother related how Bunny, hopping pyjamaed round their bedroom one evening, paused in his carol of sheer _joie de vivre_ to say with simple sincerity: “Aren’t I lucky? I’m good-looking, brilliant, athletic--I can draw and swim and jump better than any other chap; I’m popular and brave----” For weeks, the entrance of Bunny was the signal for a concerted roar of “Aren’t I lucky?” from his brothers and sisters; till superseded by the joke of Ursula and her coals. Anyway, Hal was a good chap, and did not pass on the tale at Winborough. Hal _was_ a good chap ... would it be any consolation to pour out all the mess to him? Not that he could help, but Bunny was one of those who find relief in merely unburdening themselves. Only, although Hal listened with his rough fair eyebrows drawn critically together over his beaky nose, and then summed up and gave shrewd advice, semi-humorous but never didactic, Bunny, being sensitive, could not help feeling that Hal’s natural reticence was silently longing for equal reticence in Bunny; and that he was always apprehensive of an unburdening that would go beyond decency.... Perhaps Aunt Lavvy, of more porous material, might be a better selection for his present confidences. Yes, a fellow might go to Aunt Lavvy tonight after tea, when her room was genial with soft lamplight from behind the delicate pinky silk shade, and seductive with favouritism.... “I believe she likes me best of all, right enough!”