“I think it is time you knew that I wrote those articles.  One writes about what one sees, and as long as I remain here I shall see Mudford.”

“Pardon me,” began the young man, arriving, “but is this Colonel Martin’s house?”

Mrs. Martin made no effort to reply and Mary reassured him.

“It’s like this,” he continued frankly.  “I’m representing The Daily Rebel, and I’m awfully anxious to get certain information for my paper.  I was speaking to Admiral Rogers just now and he told me I should probably get it here if I tried.  He said he could only give me a guess himself and I had better come to headquarters.  Madam,” he bowed towards Mrs. Martin, “will you kindly tell me if you are the famous ...”

Here Mary interposed.  “My mother,” she said serenely, “is not the Mudford Blight.  Nor is my father.”

The young man wheeled on her.

“Then you ...?” he queried.

Mary hesitated, questioning her mother with a glance.

“My daughter,” replied Mrs. Martin in a strangled voice, “cannot possibly be the person you seek since she is not a Mudford resident.  She lives in London and is only staying here till to-morrow—­at the latest.”

Mary smiled radiantly and sent a wire later in the afternoon.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Young Miner’s Mother.  “I CAN’T DO NOTHINK WIV OUR ’ERBERT SINCE ’E VOTED FOR THE STRIKE.  WEN I ASK ’IM TO RUN A ERRAND ’E SAYS IT ISN’T A MAN’S JOB.”]

* * * * *

THE GYNECOPHOBE.

    “While crossing a field near Berwick a gamekeeper noticed a dear coming
    in his direction and he took cover in a hayrick.”—­Scotch Paper.

* * * * *

    “PARLOURMAID Wanted, afternoons, 2-6.30, galvanised iron, 50 ft. to 140
    ft. long x 21 ft.”—­Local Paper.

It needs a girl with an iron constitution to support such a frame.

* * * * *

    “For Sale, Clergyman’s Grey Costume, latest style; also Jumper, never
    worn.”—­Irish Paper.

The reverend gentleman appears to have jibbed at the jumper.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Village Umpire (advancing down pitch, after resisting two appeals for l.b.w.).  “YOU BETTER TAKE A FRESH MIDDLE, JARGE, ’COS IF ’E ’ITS ’EE AGAIN IN THE ZAME PLACE I SHALL ’AVE TO GIVE ’EE OUT.”]

* * * * *

MOVEMENT IN THE MONEY MARKET.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,—­I have been spending my holiday at a watering place, a place that fully deserves its epithet.  My London daily has been my only entertainment, and towards the evening hours I have found myself wandering about the less familiar beats of it.  I have become an intimate of the City Editor, and I hasten to inform you, Mr. Punch, that he has introduced me to a side of the Gay Life which I have been missing all these years.  I will set out the tale of it, even at the risk of making your readers blush.