“Don’t you remember what the poet says, Mrs. Beesley?” I suggested: 

    “Beauty must be scorned in none
    Though but truly served in one.”

“Not much danger of you gentlemen bein’ too scornful,” said Mrs. Beesley.  Her eyes began to sparkle now that she saw herself fairly embarked upon a promising conversation.  She sidled a little farther into the room.  Lloyd winked at me and quietly escaped behind her.

“Seeing as we’re alone,” said Mrs. Beesley, “I come to you to see about dinner to-night.  I knows as you’re the father of ’em all.” (That is her quaint way of saying that she thinks me the leading spirit of the three who dig with her.) “How about a little jugged ’are?  Nice little ’ares there are in Cowley Road now.  I thinks ‘are is very tender an’ tasty.  That, an’ a nice ‘ot cup o’ tea?”

The last ’are had been, in Tennyson’s phrase, “the heir of all the ages,” so I deprecated the suggestion.  “I don’t think hare agrees with Mr. Williams,” I said.

“’Ow about a pheasant?” said Mrs. Beesley, stroking the corner of the table with her hand as she always does when in deep thought.  “A pheasant and a Welsh rabbit, not too peppery.  That goes well with the cider.  Dr. Warren came ‘ere to dinner once, an’ he had a Welsh rabbit and never forgot it.  ’E allus used to say when ’e saw me, ’’Ow about that Welsh rabbit, Mrs. Beesley?’ Oh, dear, Oh, dear, ’e is a kind gentleman!  ‘E gave us a book once—­’’Istory of Magdalen College,’ I think he wrote it ’imself.”

“I think a pheasant would be very nice,” I said, and began looking for a book.

“Do you think Mr. Loomis will be back from town in time for dinner?” asked Mrs. Beesley.  “I know ‘e’s fond o’ pheasant.  He’d come if he knew.”

“We might send him a telegram,” I said.

“Oh, dear, Oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Beesley, overcome by such a fantastic thought.  “You know, Mr. Morley, a funny thing ’appened this morning,” she said.  “Em’ly and I were making Mr. Loomis’s bed.  But we didn’t find ‘is clothes all lyin’ about the floor same as ’e usually does.  ’I wonder what’s ‘appened to Mr. Loomis’s clothes?’ said Em’ly.

“’P’raps ’e’s took ’em up to town to pawn ’em.’  I said. (You know we ’ad a gent’man ’ere once that pawned nearly all ’is things—­a Jesus gentleman ’e was.)

“Em’ly says to me, ’I wonder what the three balls on a pawnbroker’s sign mean?’

“‘Why don’t you know, Em’ly?’ I says.  It means it’s two to one you never gets ’em back.”

Just then there was a ring at the bell and Mrs. Beesley rolled away chuckling.  And I returned to the window to watch Kathleen play hockey.

October, 1912.

“PEACOCK PIE”