I hoped that the Authority would speak first, and that the others
would then accept my assurance that they had misunderstood me the day
before; but he was entangled at that moment in a watercress sandwich,
the loose ends of which were still waiting to be tucked away.

I looked anxiously at the girl who had promised to remember, in case
she wanted to say something, but she also was silent. Everybody was
silent except that miserable bird.

Well, I had to have another go at it. "Blackman's Warbler," I said
firmly.

"Oh, yes," said my hostess.

"Blackman's Warbler; I shall always remember that," lied the
earnest-looking girl.

The Authority, who was free by this time, looked at me indignantly.

"Nonsense," he said; "it's the Chiff-chaff."

Everybody else looked at me reproachfully. I was about to say that
"Blackman's Warbler" was the local name for the Chiff-chaff in our part
of Flint, when the Authority spoke again.

"The Chiff-chaff," he said to our hostess with an insufferable air of
knowledge.

I wasn't going to stand that.