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Now Justin was placidly accustomed to take things as they came—rain, haystacks, or nixies interested in Humber bicycles. But as he examined her more closely, it was apparent even to his indifference that, for all her dishevelment, there must somewhere be a nursemaid in search of this particular nixie. Her shyness, rounded by courtesy, was not the mere coltishness of the village child. A vague sense of responsibility mingled in his mind with a good deal of amusement.

“Hi! Stop a minute!” he called. “You! H.M.S. Indomitable!”

“My name,” she flashed at him, “is Laura.”

“And mine,” he countered, with a twinkle, “is Justin.”

She gave him a wicked child’s grin.

“Good-bye, Mr. Justin——” and whipped her legs over the side of the stack.

But Justin could be quick when he chose. His long arm shot out and caught her by her loose child’s belt. She wriggled in his grip like a snared rabbit.

“Steady! You’d have walloped right into my bicycle if you’d jumped then,” he reproached her.

“It wasn’t that! You didn’t stop me for that! You guessed! I saw you guess!” She faced him quivering, defiant.