Golf is generally admitted to be one of the best recreations for combining the necessary amount of excitement, removing all thoughts of business cares, and at the same time giving exercise in the open air, making it all the more regrettable that it should be capable of leading to the debasing and humiliating position experienced by Mr. M'Cranky. Golfers could be found who are considered--and consider themselves--strictly honest, who would omit to count a miss if they were not observed, or surreptitiously move their ball to a better position. "There is one thing I like about golf," said an Englishman who has only been a few months at the game, "It is impossible to cheat at it." "You don't know," said his friend, smiling. "Two caddies were playing for a sovereign, at Musselburgh, and, in going to Mrs. Forman's, one lost his ball, and as the five minutes allowed to look for a lost ball were about up, and he saw the hole would be lost to him, he quietly dropped another ball and said, 'Oh, here it is!' when his opponent, who had apparently been assisting him to find the ball, turned on him reproachfully and said, 'That's a lie! I've had your ball in my pocket all the time.'" Though M'Cranky is almost invariably in the wrong in the many arguments he has with his better half, he has the greatest dislike to being found out, and never admits being mistaken; and--argue as he may with himself--he feels that his duplicity has been discovered by his wife. Their friend Mrs. Watson had spent June and July at a farmhouse near Crieff, and one day at tea she told Mrs. M'Cranky how much she and the children had enjoyed the place, and benefited by it. "You should certainly take it for August and September," she said; and Mrs. M'Cranky, knowing that the selection of summer quarters was generally left to herself, at once determined to write and secure the house, little thinking that M'Cranky had another scheme on hand. She was impatient for the dinner hour, being anxious to impart the glowing account of the place as described by Mrs. Watson. "Mrs. Watson's home from Crieff," she began, "and she was awfully sorry to leave, and she says it's just the place for us, and I'm going to write after dinner to secure it, in case any one should be after it." "You'll have to go yourself, then; I can't." "But you must, dear; you know quite well that you require a rest, and it's a fine bracing place, and plenty of nice milk and eggs, and--" "I don't care for milk, and in any case I tell you I can't go." "And the people are so kind, Mrs. Watson says." "Why did she come home, then?" "Oh! she had to, you know; and there's a horse and a trap we can have the use of. The farmer used to drive Mrs. Watson and the girls every day, but he says he couldn't drive now, as he'll be so busy; but that'll be all the better, because we'll have it all to ourselves, and you can drive fine. You remember when----"