on the table, a delicacy which she usually banned on the ground
that it was bad for him; also because the making of it "gave
trouble," a deadly offence in the middle-class feminine eye.

"I thought you liked toast," she exclaimed, with an injured air,
observing that he did not touch it.

"Sometimes," said Conradin.

In the shed that evening there was an innovation in the worship of
the hutch-god. Conradin had been wont to chant his praises, to-
night he asked a boon.

"Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar."

The thing was not specified. As Sredni Vashtar was a god he must
be supposed to know. And choking back a sob as he looked at that
other empty corner, Conradin went back to the world he so hated.

And every night, in the welcome darkness of his bedroom, and every
evening in the dusk of the tool-shed, Conradin's bitter litany
went up: "Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar."

Mrs. de Ropp noticed that the visits to the shed did not cease,
and one day she made a further journey of inspection.

"What are you keeping in that locked hutch?" she asked. "I
believe it's guinea-pigs. I'll have them all cleared away."

Conradin shut his lips tight, but the Woman ransacked his bedroom