"What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. ‘Now let’s have it. Arrived beneath an aperture in the broken roof, he was preparing to pass through it, when he observed a little heap of tiles upon the floor, which appeared to have been recently dislodged. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. We'll have him on his way before many days. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed.
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