"I'm making up for to-morrow night," he said, opening his eyes suddenly.

His daughter nodded.

"Shows strength of will," continued the sergeant-major, amiably.
"Wellington could go to sleep at any time by just willing it. I'm the
same way; I can go to sleep at five minutes' notice."

"It's a very useful gift," said Miss Ward, piously, "very."

Mr. Ward had two naps the next day. He awoke from the second at twelve-
thirty a.m., and in a somewhat disagreeable frame of mind rose and
stretched himself. The house was very still. He took a small brown-
paper parcel from behind the sofa and, extinguishing the lamp, put on
his cap and opened the front door.

If the house was quiet, the little street seemed dead. He closed the
door softly and stepped into the darkness. In terms which would have
been understood by "our army in Flanders" he execrated the forefathers,
the name, and the upbringing of Mr. Edward Farrer.

Not a soul in the streets; not a light in a window. He left the little
town behind, passed the last isolated house on the road, and walked into
the greater blackness of a road between tall hedges. He had put on
canvas shoes with rubber soles, for the better surprise of Mr. Farrer,
and his own progress seemed to partake of a ghostly nature. Every ghost
story he had ever heard or read crowded into his memory. For the first
time in his experience even the idea of the company of Mr. Farrer seemed
better than no company at all.