a neighbouring bush.

He turned to go indoors and, knowing his wife's objection to dirty boots,
made for the door near the kitchen. As he passed the drawing-room
window, however, a low but imperative voice pronounced his name.

"Yes, my dear," said Mr. Chalk.

"There's a friend of yours whistling for you," said his wife, with forced
calmness.

"Whistling?" said Mr. Chalk, with as much surprise as a man could assume
in face of the noise from the bottom of the garden.

"Do you mean to tell me you can't hear it?" demanded his wife, in a
choking voice.

Mr. Chalk lost his presence of mind. "I thought it was a bird," he said,
assuming a listening attitude.

"_Bird?_" gasped the indignant Mrs. Chalk. "Look down there. Do you
call that a bird?"

Mr. Chalk looked and uttered a little cry of astonishment.

"I suppose she wants to see one of the servants," he said, at last; "but
why doesn't she go round to the side entrance? I shall have to speak to
them about it."

Mrs. Chalk drew herself up and eyed him with superb disdain.