THE KAISER'S MENU 89 



panicky, bull-dog determination to retain command 

 of the sea. 



Christmas Day dawns peaceful but frosty, a 

 beautiful winter's day. Beyond the meetings of 

 our little happy garden community in the church 

 porch, before and after service, and during neces- 

 sary garden work, it is uneventful, though full of 

 quiet preparation for a gay evening. Time flies 

 by when innumerable parcels have to be tied with 

 red ribbon, bowls filled with sweetmeats, raisins, 

 figs, and then the long, narrow oak table made 

 ready for seven hungry gardeners besides myself. 



Some touch of originality is necessary, and so 

 this year, as our thoughts are with the soldiers, 

 a miniature cannon with a baby Union Jack wav- 

 ing about it stands between the two small Christ- 

 mas trees. Printed menus of a banquet suited to 

 the Kaiser are provided for the guests, and very 

 hot and uncomfortable some of the dishes sound I 

 We are, indeed, glad that what our English cook 

 provides does not resemble them. 



How, it may be questioned, shall we spend the 

 evening when the last of the crackers have been 

 pulled and when we move into the Carnation 

 Parlour to sit by the log fire ? We all are en- 

 chanted with the originality of a game which has 

 been sent us by our friend who is known by the 

 mysterious name of " The West Wind." She often 

 wafts inspiriting ideas across the turfy Downland 

 to us. This time they come in the shape of a 

 white casket, upon which, in the midst of wreaths 

 of red and green, are the words " Peg's Garden." 

 The small box recalls the jewel-case of many a 



