a noose that was completed but a few yards ahead of where he was standing. He could not see on account of the bushes the size of the peninsula so formed, and when suddenly he heard from the depths a sound of laughter, so full was his brain of moonshine that if he had come face to face with a legendary queen of fairies, he would hardly have been surprized. It was with the deliberate encouragement of a vision surpassing all the fantasies of moon and mist that Guy stopped; and indeed, on a sensuous impulse to pamper his imagination with an unsolved mystery he had almost turned round to go back. Curiosity, however, was too strong; for, as he paused irresolute, the fairy mirth tinkling again from the recesses of that bewitched enclosure died away upon the murmur of a conversation, and he could not leave any longer inviolate that screen of hawthorns.

In the apogee of the river's noose two girls, clearly seen against the silver glooms beyond, were bending over a basket. Their heads were close together, and it was not until Guy was almost on top of them that he realized how impertinent his intrusion might seem. He drew back blushing, just as one of the girls became aware of his presence and jumped up with an 'oh' that floated away from her as lightly as a moth upon the moonshine. Her sister (Guy decided at once they were sisters) jumped up also and luckily for him, since it offered the opportunity of a natural apology, overturned the basket. For a moment the three of them gazed at one another over the mushrooms that were tumbled upon the grass to be an elfin city of the East, so white and cold were their cupolas under the moon.

"Can't I help to pick them up?" Guy asked, wondering to himself why on this night of nights that was the real beginning of Plashers Mead he should be blessed by this fortunate encounter. The two girls were wearing big white coats of some rough tweed or frieze on which the mist lay like gossamer; and, as neither of them had a hat, Guy could see that one was very dark and the other fair.

"We wondered who you were," said the dark one.

"I live at Plashers Mead," said Guy.

"I know, I've seen you often," she answered.

"And Father says every day 'My dears, I really must call upon that young man.'"

It was the fair one who spoke, and Guy recognized that it was her laughter he had first heard.

"My other sister is somewhere close by," said the dark one.

Guy was kneeling down to gather up the mushrooms, and he looked round to see another white figure coming toward them.

"Oh, Margaret, do let's introduce him to Monica. It will be such fun," cried the fair sister.

Guy saw that Margaret was shaking her head, but nevertheless when the third sister came near enough she did introduce him. Monica was more like Margaret, but much fairer than the first fair sister; and with her reserve and her pale gold hair she seemed, as she greeted him, to be indeed a wraith of the moon.

"Shall I carry the mushrooms back for you?" Guy offered.

"Oh, no thanks," said Monica quickly. "The Rectory is quite out of your way."

He felt the implication of an eldest sister's disapproval, and not wishing to spoil the omens of romance, he left the three sisters by the banks of the Greenrush and was soon on his way home through the webs of mist.

How extraordinary that he and Michael should have spent six weeks at Wychford without realizing that the Rector had three such daughters. Godbold had gossiped about him only this afternoon, reporting that he was held by some of his parishioners to be in with the Pope: they might more justly suspect him of being in with Titania. Monica, Margaret ... he had not heard the name of the third. Monica had seemed a little frigid, but Margaret and ... really when the omnibus arrived he must find out the name of the Rector's third daughter, of that one so obviously the youngest with her light brown hair and her laugh of which even now, as he paused, he fancied he could still hear the melodious echo. Monica, Margaret and ... Rose perhaps, for there had been something of a dewy eglantine about her. Surely that was indeed the echo of their voices; but, as upon distance the wayward sound eluded him, the belfry-clock with whirr and buzz and groan made preparation to strike the hour. Nine strokes boomed, leaving behind them a stillness absolute. The poet thought of time before him, of the three sisters by the river, of fame to come, and of his own fortune in finding Plashers Mead. Four months ago he had been in Macedonia, full of proconsular romance, and now he was in England with a much keener sense of every moment's potentiality than he had ever known in the dreams of oriental dominion. This sublunary adventure indicated how great a richness of pastoral life lay behind the slumber of a forgotten town; and it was seeming more than ever a pity Michael had not waited until to-night, so that he also might have met Monica and Margaret and that smallest innominate sister with the light brown hair. Guy could not help arranging with himself for his friend to fall in love with one of them; and since he at once allotted Monica to Michael, he knew that he himself preferred one of the others. But which? Oh, it was ridiculous to ask such questions after seeing three girls for three minutes of moonlight. Perhaps it really had been sorcery and in the morning, when he met them in Wychford High Street, they would appear dull and ordinary. They could not be so beautiful as he thought they were, he decided, since if they were he must have heard of their beauty. Nevertheless it was in a mood of almost elated self-congratulation that Guy found himself hurrying through the orchard toward the candlelight of his room.

The arrival of Miss Peasey, now that it was upon him, banished everything else; and instead of dreaming deliciously of that encounter in the water-meadows, he stood meditating on the failure of the kitchen. As he regarded the enormous dresser; the table trampling upon the fender; the seven dish-covers mocking his poor crockery, Guy had little hope that Miss Peasey would stay a week: and then suddenly, worse than any failure of equipment, he remembered that she might be hungry. He looked at his watch. A quarter-past nine. Of course she would be hungry. She probably had eaten nothing but a banana since breakfast in Cardiff. Guy rushed out and surprized the landlord of the Stag by begging him to send the hostler down at once with cold beef and stout and cheese.

"There's the bus," he cried. "Don't forget. At once. My new housekeeper. Long journey. And salad. Forgot she'd be hungry. Salt and mustard. I've got plates."

The omnibus went rumbling past, and Guy followed at a jog-trot down the street, saw it cross the bridge and, making a spurt, caught it up just as a woman alighted by the gate of Plashers Mead.

"Ah, Miss Peasey," said Guy breathlessly. "I went up the street to see if the bus was coming. Have you had a comfortable journey?"

"Mr. Hazlewood?" asked the new housekeeper blinking at him.

The guard of the omnibus at this moment informed Guy that he had some cases for Plashers Mead.

"Where is Mr. Hazlewood then?" asked Miss Peasey turning sharply.

Over her shoulder Guy saw that the guard was apparently punching the side of his head, and he said more loudly:

"I'm Mr. Hazlewood."

"I thought you were. I'm a little bit deaf after travelling, so you'll kindly speak slightly above the usual, Mr. Hazlewood."

"I hope you've had a comfortable journey," Guy shouted.

"Oh, yes, I think I shall," she said with what Guy fancied was meant to be an encouraging smile. "I hope you haven't lost any of my parcels, young man," she continued with a severe glance at the guard.

"Four and a stringbag. Is that right, mum?" he bellowed. "She's as deaf as an adder, Mr. Hazlewood," he explained confidentially. "We had a regular time getting of her into the bus before we found out she couldn't hear what was being