" Sorrell was trying to fasten the straps of the little brown portmanteau, but since the portmanteau was old and also very full, he had to deal with it ten derly. "Comeandsitonthisthing,Kit." The boy had been straddling a chair by the window, his interest di- vided between his father's operations upon the portmanteau and a game of football that was being played in Lavender Street by a number ofv erydir tyandv erynoisysmallbo ys. Christopher went and sat. He was a brown child of eleven, with a grave face and a sudden pleasant smile. His bent knees showed the shininessofhistrousers . "Havetobecare ful,y oukno w,"saidSor rell. The father's dark head was close to the boy's brown one. He too was shiny in a suit of blue serge. His long figure seemed to curve over the portmanteau with anxiously rounded shoulders and sallow and in- tentface .T hec hildbe sidehimmadehimlookdustyandfrail. "Now, the other one, old chap. Can't afford to be rough. Gently doesit.""