"Please, Father, would you mind very much if the hall door and the back door were both left wide open all night?" Father considered this somewhat odd request for a space, then inquired with a stray gleam of amusement in his eyes, "Do you consider the house stuffy? Or have you suddenly adopted one of the Futurist ideas concerning Health?" "No, it isn't that, but Chris and I expect somebody; no, I mean _something_, and we should be so disappointed if it, no, I mean _he_ didn't come." "Rather a late visitor," said Father, "and rather an inconsiderate one if this quite Eastern welcome of him includes us all catching our death of cold. No, Ridgie, I'm afraid he will have to knock." "But, Father, I'm not sure he can knock." "Then ring," suggested their parent, "nice new electric bell I've just had fixed up. He's only got to push the button." "Perhaps he doesn't understand about electric bells," objected Ridgwell. "Your friend seems a trifle old-fashioned," observed Father, good-naturedly. "And then," said Ridgwell, "his paw is so big he might never find the bell-push." "I see; a dog, eh?" "No, bigger than a dog, much." "Well, then, say a donkey." "No, Father, bigger than a dog, and not so big as a donkey." "I give it up," said Father, "but I promise whatever he is he shall be attended to and entertained if possible." "I cannot think what you will say to him," debated Ridgwell anxiously. "I will do my best, Ridgwell; but from your description I should imagine the conversation will be a little one-sided. However," remarked Father drily, "perhaps he can be persuaded to smoke, or drink." "No, Father, he never smokes, and he only drinks water." "Ah! very abstemious," murmured Father; "perhaps he is a vegetarian as well, sounds like it, and they are always the most difficult people to entertain." At this moment the conversation was interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door, and immediately the new electric bell sounded throughout the house. Ridgwell and Christine nearly tumbled over one another in order to get to the hall door first. "It's Lal after all," shouted Ridgwell. "Sure to be," chimed in Christine. At length in the struggle the hall door was opened, but it wasn't the form of the Pleasant-Faced Lion who greeted them, only Mr. Jollyface, a friend of Father's and a happy, jolly old bachelor, who loved both of the children. "Anybody with you?" inquired Ridgwell anxiously, as he peered either side of Mr. Jollyface's portly form. "No, only me," chuckled Mr. Jollyface. "Whom are you expecting? Glad to find you children up; I've got something for you in my pocket, Master Ridgie; your birthday, isn't it?" "Yes," confessed Ridgwell, but it could be plainly seen that his former enthusiasm had died a sudden death. "But do tell me, Mr. Jollyface, did you see anything as you came along?" "Lots of things," replied Mr. Jollyface, cheerily. "A lion?" whispered Ridgwell mysteriously.