There was a certain air about her as though she did it all.

"How they do spoil me, to be sure," the figure murmured to itself;
"yet Mother's always saying that _I_ spoil them. I wonder...!"

"Now you look decent at last," said Judy. "You smell like a nice
rabbit."

"It's my shooting-coat." The figure cleared its throat, apparently on
the defensive a little.

Tim and Judy sniffed it. "Rabbits and squirrels and earth and things,"
thought Tim.

"And flowers and burning leaves," said Judy. "It's his old garden-coat
as well." She sniffed very audibly. "Oh, I love that smoky smell."

"It's the good old English smell," said the figure contentedly, while
they put his neck-tie straight and arranged the pocket flaps for him.
"It's English country--England."

"Don't other countries smell, then?" inquired Tim. "I mean, could any
one tell you were English by your smell?" He sniffed again, with
satisfaction. "Weeden's the same," he went on, without waiting for an
answer, "only much stronger, and so's the potting shed."

"But yours is sweeter _much_," said Judy quickly. To share odours with
an Authority like the Head Gardener was distinctly a compliment, but
Daddy must come first, whatever happened. "How funny," she added, half
to herself, "that England should have such a jolly smell. I wonder