little, but it "meant an awful lot"--most of which, perhaps, was not
intended.

These four constituted the under layer of the household, concealed
from visitors, and living their own lives apart behind the scenes.
They were the Lesser Authorities.

There were others too, of course, neighbours, friends, and visitors,
who dwelt outside the big iron gates in the Open World, and who
entered their lives from various angles, some to linger, some merely
to show themselves and vanish into mist again. Occasionally they
reappeared at intervals, occasionally they didn't. Among the former
were Colonel William Stumper, C.B., a retired Indian soldier who lived
in the Manor House beyond the church and had written a book on
Scouting; a nameless Station-Master, whom they saw rarely when they
accompanied Daddy to the London train; a Policeman, who walked
endlessly up and down the muddy or dusty lanes, and came to the front
door with a dirty little book in his big hands at Christmas-time; and
a Tramp, who slept in barns and haystacks, and haunted the great
London Road ever since they had once handed him a piece of Mrs.
Horton's sticky cake in paper over the old grey fence. Him they
regarded with a special awe and admiration, not unmixed with
tenderness. He had smiled so nicely when he said "Thank you" that
Judy, wondering if there was any one to mend his clothes, had always
longed to know him better. It seemed so wonderful. How could he live
without furniture, house, regular meals--without possessions, in a
word? It made him so real. It was "real life," in fact, to live that
way; and upon Judy especially the impression was a deep one.

In addition to these occasional intruders, there was another person,