"Don't worry, darling," said Jean.

The Mhor turned to Jock, who was sitting at a table with his head bent
over a book. "Jock, let's play at 'Suppose.'"

"Shut up," said Jock.

"David." The Mhor turned to his last hope. "_Seeing_ it's your last
night."

David never could resist the Mhor when he was beseeching.

"Well, only for ten minutes, remember."

Mhor looked fixedly at the clock, measuring with his eye the space of
ten minutes, then nodded, murmuring to himself, "From there to there.
You begin, Jean."

"I can't think of anything," said Jean. Then seeing Mhor's eager face
cloud, she began: "Suppose when David was in the train to-morrow he
heard a scuffling sound under the seat, and he looked and saw a grubby
little boy and a fox-terrier, and he said, 'Come out, Mhor and Peter.'
And suppose they went with him all the way to Oxford, and when they got
to the college they crept upstairs without being seen and the scout was
a kind scout and liked dogs and naughty boys and he gave them a splendid
supper----"

"What did he give them?" Mhor asked.