“This darned woollen yarn,” observed Marshall.

“You’re all right, Socks,” declared Chilvers.  “I only wish I could get as good a press agent as our friend Bishop.  When I was a kid I used to push ’em into the pond and run, and let someone else fish them out.”

“If a man were to do an act as brave as that,” asserted Miss Harding, “the world would acclaim him a hero, and not pile ridicule on him.”

“All of which proves that no boy is a hero to another boy,” commented Mr. Harding, “and that is as it should be.  Boys get their heroes out of books, and as a rule they are fighters and pirates rather than of the self-sacrificing type.”

I was glad when Miss Lawrence changed the topic of conversation.

“What do you think?” she exclaimed, addressing no one in particular, “I have discovered that Mr. Wallace knows how to play golf, and that he learned the game on some of the famous old courses of Scotland.  He has promised to teach me the St. Andrews swing.”

LaHume’s face was a study as Miss Lawrence made this rather startling announcement.  Surprise, disgust, and anger were reflected in his eyes and in the lines of his mouth.

“You have played St. Andrews?” asked Carter of Wallace.

“Yes, many a time,” said this remarkable “hired man.”  “I was born hard-by the old town,” he added.

“Indeed?” sneered LaHume.  “What were you while there; caddy or professional?”

I thought I detected a flash of anger in the eyes of the young Scotchman, but if offended he controlled himself admirably.  Not so with Miss Lawrence, who glared indignantly at LaHume.

“I doubt if I knew enough of the game,” said Wallace, quietly, “to be either.  I merely played there and at other places when I had the opportunity.”

“Mr. Wallace says that St. Andrews does not compare with some of the newer links in Scotland,” declared Miss Lawrence, ignoring LaHume.

“Which ones, for instance?” asked Carter, who has played over most of the fine courses in Great Britain.

“Muirfield and Prestwick offer better golf than St. Andrews, and are not so crowded,” replied Wallace.  “The farther you get from St. Andrews the greater its reputation, but it is too rough for perfect golf.  A long, straight drive is often penalised by a bad lie, and an indifferent shot favoured by a good one, which is more luck than golf.”

Carter smiled, and he afterwards told me it struck him as odd that a farmhand should converse in such words and on so peculiar a topic.  Wallace good-naturedly and modestly answered a number of questions, but evaded telling the class of his game.

I wonder where Miss Lawrence will receive those lessons which will enable her to acquire the “St. Andrews swing”?  I doubt if our rules will permit this remarkable farm labourer to play over Woodvale, even as the guest or at the request of Miss Lawrence.  I shall watch developments with much interest.