daughter, watched him out of sight and resumed her walk. She turned once
or twice as though to make sure that she was not observed, and then,
making her way in the direction of Mr. Chalk's house, approached it
cautiously from the back.

Mr. Chalk, who was in the garden engaged in the useful and healthful
occupation of digging, became aware after a time of a low whistle
proceeding from the farther end. He glanced almost mechanically in that
direction, and then nearly dropped his spade as he made out a girl's head
surmounted by a large hat. The light was getting dim, but the hat had an
odd appearance of familiarity. A stealthy glance in the other direction
showed him the figure of Mrs. Chalk standing to attention just inside the
open French windows of the drawing-room.

[Illustration: "He made out a girl's head surmounted by a large hat."]

The whistle came again, slightly increased in volume. Mr. Chalk, pausing
merely to wipe his brow, which had suddenly become very damp, bent to his
work with renewed vigour. It is an old idea that whistling aids manual
labour; Mr. Chalk, moistening his lips with a tongue grown all too
feverish for the task, began to whistle a popular air with much
liveliness.

The idea was ingenious, but hopeless from the start. The whistle at the
end of the garden became piercing in its endeavour to attract attention,
and, what was worse, developed an odd note of entreaty. Mr. Chalk, pale
with apprehension, could bear no more.

"Well, I think I've done enough for one night," he observed, cheerfully
and loudly, as he thrust his spade into the ground and took his coat from