His wife received the information silence.

"I've noticed it for some time," said the thoughtful husband, making
another effort. "It's worried me."

"I'm not getting younger, I know," assented Mrs. Chalk. "But if you
think that that's any excuse for your goings on, you're mistaken."

Mr. Chalk murmured something to the effect that he did not understand
her.

"You understand well enough," was the reply. "When that girl came
whistling over the fence last night you said you thought it was a bird."

"I did," said Mr. Chalk, hastily taking a spoonful of egg.

Mrs. Chalk's face flamed. "What sort of bird?" she demanded.

"Singin' bird," replied her husband, with nervous glibness.

Mrs. Chalk left the room.

Mr. Chalk finished his breakfast with an effort, and then, moving to the
window, lit his pipe and sat for some time in moody thought. A little
natural curiosity as to the identity of the fair whistler would, however,
not be denied, and the names of Binchester's fairest daughters passed in
review before him. Almost unconsciously he got up and surveyed himself
in the glass.

"There's no accounting for tastes," he said to himself, in modest