The postman was a great success.  He had acquired a light suit of overalls, on which he had painted three large red stars, using, I hope, Government red ink, and with black cheeks and a floured nose footed it solemnly to the music of the Framford Comrades’ Band.  He also ran underneath the lath at the high jump and tumbled down in trying to put the shot.  All round the field children could be heard asking, “What is he doing, Mummy?” and, when they were told, “Hush, dears, he’s doing it for a joke,” their eyes danced and they tried for a moment to control their emotion and then broke into shrieks of laughter.  All the difficult open events which were not won by a young man in puce-coloured shorts were won by a friend of his in a yellow shirt.  I have an idea that these two young men came from Framford and go round doing this kind of thing and getting prizes for it, just as Mr. Bates goes round selling his beef.

Amidst all this fun and frolic, if you went up to the top of one of the sandhills and looked across the blue bay to the little seaport opposite, you saw that it was also emptied of its folk this pious afternoon and was in fact holding aquatic revels.  Little fishing-boats with brown sails were turning about a given mark.  There were rowing races and diving competitions and a greasy pole and very probably a comic man dressed up as a buoy.

I have pondered deeply over these twin feasts, and it has occurred to me that, whilst land sports and water sports are both of them very good things in their way, neither expresses the real genius of a maritime resort, and also that we visitors, if we are too shy to enter with gusto into the local games, ought to provide some suitable entertainment in return.  I have compiled therefore a programme of a Grand Beach Gala for next week, and have had a notice put up in the post-office window inviting entries.  Not many people buy stamps at the post-office, but, as you get bacon and spades and buckets and jam there, it is a pretty popular emporium, and I think my list of events should prove an attractive one.  It runs as follows:—­

1. Pebble and Tent Competition.—­Fathers of families only.  To be run if possible at low tide on a wet and windy day.  Competitors to leave starting post in ordinary attire, enter tent, emerge in bathing costume, strike tents, sprint over shingle to the sea, swim to a given point, return, pitch tents, dress and run to winning-post.

FIRST PRIZE, a ham sandwich, with real sand.

2. Sock Race.—­Under ten.  Competitors to start barefooted in rock-pools and race at the sound of a dinner-bell to nurses, have feet dried, put on shoes and stockings and run to row of buns at top of beach.  First bun down wins.  Points deducted for sand in socks.

3. Hundred Yards Paddle Dash.—­To be run along the edge of surf.  Handicap by position.  Tallest competitor to have deepest station.  Open to all ages and sexes.  Feet to be lifted clear of the water at every stride.  Properly raced this is a fine frothy event, productive of the greatest enthusiasm, especially if the trousers come unrolled.