dancing performed in aid of a deserving charity. Then he turned shyly to
the group perched on the wall and asked with affected carelessness, "Do
you like flowers?" Three solemn nods rewarded his venture.

"Which sorts do you like best?" he asked, this time with a distinct
betrayal of eagerness in his voice.

"Those with all the colours, over there." Three chubby arms pointed to a
distant tangle of sweet-pea. Child-like, they had asked for what lay
farthest from hand, but Octavian trotted off gleefully to obey their
welcome behest. He pulled and plucked with unsparing hand, and brought
every variety of tint that he could see into his bunch that was rapidly
becoming a bundle. Then he turned to retrace his steps, and found the
blank wall blanker and more deserted than ever, while the foreground was
void of all trace of Olivia. Far down the meadow three children were
pushing a go-cart at the utmost speed they could muster in the direction
of the piggeries; it was Olivia's go-cart and Olivia sat in it, somewhat
bumped and shaken by the pace at which she was being driven, but
apparently retaining her wonted composure of mind. Octavian stared for a
moment at the rapidly moving group, and then started in hot pursuit,
shedding as he ran sprays of blossom from the mass of sweet-pea that he
still clutched in his hands. Fast as he ran the children had reached the
piggery before he could overtake them, and he arrived just in time to see
Olivia, wondering but unprotesting, hauled and pushed up to the roof of
the nearest sty. They were old buildings in some need of repair, and the
rickety roof would certainly not have borne Octavian's weight if he had
attempted to follow his daughter and her captors on their new vantage
ground.

"What are you going to do with her?" he panted. There was no mistaking