Their rubbers creaked as they went trudging across the Yard cold with a bitter sweep of wind--and the ice glare upon the steps of Widener. Three of them, Jopes, and Plimpkin and Thwait! The brief cases at their sides bulked heavy.

"A dull night and raw", said Thwait.

"Rignto", said Jones.

"And Widener is very warm", said Plimpkin, "Very warm, indeed."

Their rubbers creaked a chorus. The stars were very clear. Above the Yard there was none so clear as that yellow one to the north--or was that Thwait's imagination? "I have," he suddenly remembered, "I have to make a call tonight."

"Really?", from Jones.

"How pleasant", said Plimpkin.

"And I think she would like you to come with me", added Thwait. "I truly do."

"Now really...", began Jones.

"We'll be glad....", ended Plimpkin.

Creak, creak went their rubbers. And the brief cases at their sides swung to and fro, to and fro not unlike the movement of dromedaries--but that is another story. Three secton men, marching toward the house of a Cambridge lady on Christmas--was it Christmas--Eve...Surely that has nothing to link it with fable or fancy or even myth, has it?

She was seated by the hearth, rocking. You must leave your rubbers in the hall and place your brief cases all in a row and come and sit down by the fire", she said, for she was a clever lady. So three comfortable and cheerful brethren sat by the fire and smoked her excellent cigarettes and wondered. For even a section man may wonder, occasionally.

And their wonder was due to the rocking and the cause of the rocking. For the lovely lady--most lovely and rather young--the lovely lady was rocking a book. They tried to be polite. Have I said that she was clever? "Gentlemen, you must forgive me, but--but I have given birth to created a--"

They were not quite comfortable. Thwait wished for the absence of Jones and Plimpkin. They wished for the same. None was at all sure of himself. Secton men are not heroes. Why should they be? This was a situation. It needed a hero.

"I--I...", started Thwait.