fix your eyes on the kind lady," I commanded. "Woggles--Bogie:
Bogie--Woggles. Two very nice people." Bogie barked, put out his
tongue and let the wind blow his left ear inside out. Woggles laughed
in that excellent way she has.

At the Rectory she sang to me even better than she used to; the
"Delight" was an achievement, Bogie being most agreeably surprised;
there was a glow of firelight such as I love, and a vast comfortable
chair. I felt lazy and very happy.

"This tea idea of yours was simply an inspiration. I don't know when
I've been so pleased with myself and existence generally. At the
moment my _moral_ is as high as Mount Everest."

"Yes, I noticed something like that," Woggles agreed. "More tea?
It's only about your fifth cup." Suddenly serious, she went on: "I
wonder--is there much to be happy about just now? Dad thinks not; and
so do I, rather. Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather
find faces in the fire?"

"Please I want to talk about it."

"Carry on then. Fortify yourself with that last bit of 'Delight.'"

In spite of this reinforcement I found it wasn't so very easy to
begin.

"Well," I said slowly, "I expect the foundation of my _joie de vivre_
is a great relief that the War's over. Lots of troops celebrated that
with song and dance and so forth on November 11th and subsequent