First we must introduce some of the Squire’s guests to our readers.  The Reverend Arthur Manley, a clever young clergyman with a taste for gardening, was talking in one corner to Miss Phipps, a pretty girl of some twenty summers.  Captain Bolsover, a smart cavalry officer, together with Professor and Mrs. Smith-Smythe from Oxford, formed a small party in another corner.  Handsome Jack Ellison was, as usual, in deep conversation with the beautiful Miss Holden, who, it was agreed among the ladies of the party, was not altogether indifferent to his fine figure and remarkable prospects.  There were other guests, but as they chiefly played the part of audience in the events which followed their names will not be of any special interest to our readers.  Suffice it to say that they were all intelligent, well-dressed, and ready for any sort of fun.

(Now, thank heaven, we can begin.)

A burst of laughter from Captain Bolsover attracted general attention, and everybody turned in his direction.

“By Jove, Professor, that’s good,” he said, as he slapped his knee; “you must tell the others that.”

“It was just a little incident that happened to me to-day as I was coming down here,” said the Professor, as he beamed round on the company.  “I happened to be rather late for my train, and as I bought my ticket I asked the clerk what time it was.  He replied, ’If it takes six seconds for a clock to strike six, how long will it take to strike twelve?’ I said twelve seconds, but it seems I was wrong.”

The others all said twelve seconds too, but they were all wrong.  Can you guess the right answer?

When the laughter had died down, the Reverend Arthur Manley said: 

“That reminds me of an amusing experience which occurred to my housekeeper last Friday.  She was ordering a little fish for my lunch, and the fishmonger, when asked the price of herrings, replied, ’Three ha’pence for one and a half,’ to which my housekeeper said, ’Then I will have twelve.’  How much did she pay?” He smiled happily at the company.

“One—­and—­sixpence, of course,” said Miss Phipps.

“No, no; ninepence,” cried the Squire with a hearty laugh.

Captain Bolsover made it come to Ll 3s. 2-1/2d., and the Professor thought fourpence.  But once again they were all wrong.  What do you make it come to?

It was now Captain Bolsover’s turn for an amusing puzzle, and the others turned eagerly towards him.

“What was that one about a door?” said the Squire.  “You were telling me when we were out shooting yesterday, Bolsover.”

Captain Bolsover looked surprised.

“Ah, no, it was young Reggie Worlock,” said the Squire with a hearty laugh.

“Oh, do tell us, Squire,” said everybody.

“It was just a little riddle, my dear,” said the Squire to Miss Phipps, always a favourite of his.  “When is a door not a door?”