"Hot dog!" cried Yelpers "Some hat!"

To his horror, Gissing now saw Mrs. Spaniel, hastening in alarm
down from the house, spilling potatoes from her apron as she ran.
He hurriedly urged the driver to proceed.

"What terrible looking children," observed the Bishop, who
seemed fascinated by their stare. "Really, my good sister," he
said to Mrs. Spaniel, who was now panting by the running board;
"you must keep them off the road or someone will get hurt."

Gissing was looking for an imaginary object on the floor of the
car. To his great relief he heard the roar of the motor as they
started again. But he sat up a little too soon. A simultaneous
roar of "Daddy!" burst from the trio.

"What was that they were shouting at us?" inquired the Bishop,
looking back.

Gissing shook his head. He was too overcome to speak.



CHAPTER ELEVEN

The little chapel at Dalmatian Heights sat upon a hill, among a
grove of pines, the most romantic of all trees. Life, a powerful
but clumsy dramatist, does not reject the most claptrap
"situations," which a sophisticated playwright would discard as