“No, but guess,” cried Jim, indignantly. “You might guess!... Do you give it up?” He smiled again. “Do you give it up, Palmer?” “Yes.” “It’s my own, you know,” Jim told him. “All right: fire ahead.” “‘Bun,’” Jim announced complacently. “B――U――N.” Edward laughed: everybody laughed except Ann. “What are you all grinning at?” asked Jim, uneasily. “My first is ‘B’――‘B’ in ‘bat’ but not in ‘cat.’ My second is ‘U’――in ‘uncle’ but not in ‘aunt.’” “‘U’ _is_ in ‘aunt,’ silly.” “How is it in ‘aunt’?” “A――U――N――T! That’s how it’s in it.” Jim blushed. “It’s not A――U――N――T, is it Ann?” “I don’t know,” Ann whispered. “Is it, Grif?” “Jim, don’t contradict,” said Barbara, primly. But Jim was getting annoyed. “I’ll contradict if I like.” “You won’t. And if you’re rude I’ll tell Miss Johnson.” “Tell away. I don’t care.” “Don’t care came to a bad end.” “I _don’t_ think.” “And you know you’re not allowed to say that. Miss Johnson told you you weren’t to.” Jim put out his tongue. With that simplicity in the expression of preferences which characterizes all dogs and most little boys, he moved away from Edward and Barbara and walked beside Palmer Dorset. They turned in at the gate. “The birds here seem jolly tame,” Edward muttered, as an adventurous robbin hopped up almost to their feet. “I wish I had my air-gun. We must get some elastic and make caties.” “Oh, Edward, how can you be so cruel?” exclaimed Ann. “Aunt Caroline feeds the birds every day, and she says they come right up to her when she calls them.” “That’ll be all the better.” “Are you fond of Edna Lyall’s books?” whispered Barbara, addressing Palmer for the first time. Edward laughed. “As if he reads rot like that!” He had been fumbling in his pockets, and now brought out a half-used packet of cigarettes. “We’ll not be able to smoke in the house, Dorset, so we may as well have one while we can.” There was a silence. “I’m afraid he’s showing off a little,” murmured Grif, addressing no one in particular, unless it were the robbin, who continued to flutter on their path in the most friendly way possible. Edward coloured as he struck a match. “One for you, Angelina!” chuckled Palmer appreciatively. Edward walked on in offended dignity. “Why do you call him Angelina, Balmer?” The remorseless and inevitable question came in Ann’s gentle voice. She had even ventured to take Palmer’s hand, on the strength of their previous acquaintance. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s always called that.” He glanced at Edward apologetically, the name having slipped out by accident. But Edward, with heightened colour, and staring straight before him, maintained his attitude of indifference. “It’s a very nice name,” Ann reflected. “I like it. I shall call him Angelina too.” “If you do, you won’t do it a second time,” her brother mentioned in accents of quiet rage. Ann was astonished. “Don’t you like it? Why do people call you it then?”