We did not talk much on the way down; it was all rather solemn.  We were going to put the bit in our mouths again, and Father Payne was an unknown quantity.  We both felt that there was something decidedly big and strong there to be reckoned with.

We arrived, as before, at tea-time, and we both received a cordial greeting.  After tea Father Payne took us away, and told us the rules of the house.  They were simple enough; he described the day.  Breakfast was from 8.30 to 9.15, and was a silent meal.  “It’s a bad thing to begin the day by chattering and arguing,” said Father Payne.  Then we were supposed to work in our own rooms or the library till one.  We might stroll about, if we wished, but there was to be no talking to anyone else, unless he himself gave leave for any special reason.  Luncheon was a cold meal, quite informal, and was on the table for an hour.  There was to be no talk then either.  From two to five we could do as we liked, and it was expected that we should take at least an hour’s exercise, and if possible two.  Tea at five, and work afterwards.  At 8.15, dinner, and we could do as we wished afterwards, but we were not to congregate in anyone’s room, and it was understood that no one was to go to another man’s bedroom, which was also his study, at any time, unless he was definitely invited, or just to ask a question.  The smoking-room was always free for general talk, but Father Payne said that on the whole he discouraged any gatherings or cliques.  The point of the whole was solitary work, with enough company to keep things fresh and comfortable.

He said that we were expected to valet ourselves entirely, and that if we wanted a fire, we must lay it and clean it up afterwards.  If we wanted to get anything, or have anything done, we could ask him or the butler.  “But I rather expect everyone to look after himself,” he said.  We were not to absent ourselves without his leave, and we were to go away if he told us to do so.  “Sometimes a man wants a little change and does not know it,” he said.

Then he also said that he would ask us, from time to time, what we were doing—­hear it read, and criticise it; and that one of the most definite conditions of our remaining was that he must be satisfied that we really were at work.  If we wanted any special books, he said, we might ask him, and he could generally get them from the London Library; but that we should find a good many books of reference and standard works in the library.

He told us, too, of certain conditions of which we had not heard—­that we were to be away, either at home, or travelling wherever he chose to send us, for three months in the year, and that he supplied the funds if necessary.  Moreover, for one month in the summer he kept open house.  Half of us were to go away for the first fortnight in July, and the other half were to stay and entertain his guests, or even our own, if we wished to invite them; then the other half of the men returned, and had their