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‘He may be a jolly boy–at school,’ was all that even the tolerant Cecily could find to urge in his favour.

‘I believe,’ said Hazel, ‘that they’re not nearly so mad about him as they were–didn’t you notice about the tennis just now?’

‘He bullies them–that’s what it is,’ explained Hilary; ‘only with talking, I mean, of course, but he talks such a lot, and he will have his own way, and, if they say anything, he reminds them he’s a visitor, and ought to be humoured. I wish it was any use getting Uncle Lambert to speak to him–but he’s so stupid!’

‘Is he, though?’ said a lazy voice from behind the cedar.

‘Oh, Uncle Lambkin!’ cried Hilary, ‘I didn’t know you were there!’

‘Don’t apologise,’ was the answer. ‘I know it must be a trial to have an uncle on the verge of imbecility–but bear with me. I am at least harmless.’

‘Of course we know you’re really rather clever,’ said Hazel, ‘but you are stupid about some things–you never interfere, whatever people do!’

‘Don’t I, really?’ said their uncle, as he disposed himself on his back, and tilted his hat over his nose; ‘you do surprise me! What a mistake for a man to make, who has come down for perfect quiet! Whom shall I begin to interfere with?’

‘Well, you might snub that horrid Tinling boy, instead of encouraging him, as you always do!’

‘Encourage him! He’s got a fine flow of martial enthusiasm, and a good supply of military terms, and I listen when he gives me long accounts of thrilling engagements, when he came out uncommonly strong–and the enemy, so far as I can gather, never came out at all. I’m passive, because I can’t help myself; and then he amuses me in his way–that’s all.’

‘Do you believe he’s brave, uncle?’

‘I only know that I saw him kill two wasps with his teaspoon,’ was the reply. ‘They don’t award the Victoria Cross for it–but it’s a thing I couldn’t have done myself.’

‘I should hope not!’ exclaimed Hilary; ‘but everybody knows you’re a coward,’ she added (she did not intend this remark to be taken seriously), ‘and you’re awfully lazy. Still, there are some things you might do!’

‘If that means fielding long-leg till tea-time, I respectfully disagree. Irreverent girls, have you never been taught that a digesting uncle is a very solemn and sacred thing?’

‘Now you are going to be idiotic again! But as to cricket–why, you must know that we never get a game now! And next summer I shall be too old to play!’

‘I never mean to be too old for cricket,’ said Hilary, with conviction; ‘but we’ve had none for weeks, uncle, positive weeks!’

‘Quite right, too!’ observed Uncle Lambert, sleepily. ‘Not a game for girls–only spoil your hands–do you think I want a set of nieces with paws like so many glovers’ signs?’

‘That’s utter nonsense,’ said Hazel, calmly, ‘because we always play in gloves. Mother makes us. At least, when we did play. Now the boys will only play soldiers, and, if they do happen to be inclined for a set at tennis, Clarence comes up and orders them off as pickets or outposts, or something!’

‘But he’s not Bismarck or Boulanger, is he? I always understood this was a free country.’

‘You know what Guy and Jack are–they can’t bear their visitor to think he isn’t welcome.’

‘Well, they seem to have made him feel very much at home–but it isn’t my business; if they choose to declare the house in a state of siege, and turn the garden into a seat of war, I can’t help it–I’d rather they wouldn’t, but it’s your mother’s affair, not mine!’

And he closed the discussion by lighting a cigarette, and relapsing into a contented silence.

Uncle Lambert was short and stout, with a round red face, a heavy auburn moustache, and little green eyes which never seemed to notice anything. His nieces were fond of him, though they often wished he would pay them the occasional compliment of talking sensibly; but he never did, and he spent all his time at The Gables in elaborately doing nothing at all.