Rudyard Kipling 83 was all that was ever there.” “Not quite. Look out a minute. There’s the windmill above the potato-fields; they haven’t built villas there yet; d’you remember when I shut you up in it?” “Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.” “She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a trusting nature in those days.” They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie’s cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear skin. He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the evening would bring him a great reward. When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new eyes. First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. Jennett. “Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?” said Dick, with mock terror. “I should make a face.” “Show, then,” said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood. Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and Dick laughed. “This is disgraceful,” said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett’s tone. “‘Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle for the next three Sundays. After all I’ve taught you, too, and three helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick’s always leading you into mischief. If you aren’t a gentleman, Dick, you might at least — “” The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been used.