‘I do not know what you took them for,’ said Lady Merrifield, ‘but you see some part of this trouble arose from a mistake on you part. Now, Wilfred and Valetta, remember that is not right to force a person into play against her will. And as to the shooting near, but not at her, you both know perfectly well that it is forbidden. So give me your bow, Wilfred. I shall keep it for a week, that you may remember obedience.’ Wilfred looked sullen, but obeyed. Dolores could not call her aunt unjust, but as she look round, she met glances that made her think it prudent to shelter herself among the elders. Aunt Jane asked what the game was. ‘The Thorn Fortress,’ said Gillian. ‘It comes out of that delightful S.P.C.K. book so called, where, in the ‘Thirty Years’ War,’ all the people of a village took refuge from the soldiers in a field in the middle of a forest guarded by a tremendous hedge of thorns. Val had it for a birthday present, and the children have been acting it ever since.’ ‘It has quite put out the Desert Island passion, which used to be a regular stage in these children’s lives. Every voyage we have taken, somebody has come to ask whether there was any hope of being wrecked on one.’ ‘Fergus even asked when we crossed from Dublin,’ said Gillian. ‘He was put up to that, to keep up the tradition,’ observed Harry. On reaching the house, the elders proceeded to five o’clock tea in the drawing-room, the juniors to gouter in the dining-room. As Dolores entered, she beheld a row of all her five younger cousins drawn up looking at her as if she had committed high treason, and she was instantly addressed-- ‘Tell-take tit!’ began Valetta. ‘Sneak!’ cried Wilfred. ‘I will call her Croat!’ added Fergus. ‘Worse than Croat! Bashi Bazouk!’ exclaimed Valetta. ‘Worse than Crow!’ chimed in Primrose. ‘Oh, Dolores! How could you?’ said Mysie. ‘To get poor Willie punished!’ said Val. Dolores stood her ground. ‘It was time to speak when it came to shooting arrows at me.’ ‘Hush! hush! Willie,’ cried Mysie. ‘I told you so. Now Dolores, listen. Nobody ever tells of anybody when it is only being tiresome and they don’t mean it, or there never would be any peace at all. That’s honour! Do you see? One may go to Gill sometimes.’ ‘One’s a sneak if one does,’ put in Wilfred; but Mysie, unheeding went on-- ‘And Gill can help without a fuss or going to mamma.’ ‘Mamma always knows,’ said Val. ‘Mamma knows all about everything,’ said Mysie. ‘I think it’s nature; ad if she does not always take notice at the time, she will have it out sooner or later.’ Then resuming the thread of her discourse: ‘So you see, Dolly, we have made up our minds that we will forgive you this time, because you are an only child and don’t know what’s what, and that’s some excuse. Only you mustn’t go on telling tales whenever an evident happens.’