Once upon a time, my dears, an aged man was standing on the top of a ridge overlooking a broad valley at one end of which lay a fair, shining city, while at the other end there stood out the outlines of the grim foreboding forest-clad mountains known as the Political Woods. As the old man shaded his eyes from the strong afternoon sun he saw emerging from the forest four figures which, on closer approach, revealed themselves as four Kernels. Now, these Kernels were important people, for were they not two-thirds of the Kernels' List? Or, what sounds more important still, 66 and two-thirds per cent, of the same? And remember, my dears, a Kernels' List is of much greater importance than a shipping list or a mere list to starboard. Bearing in mind that the Army fights on its stomach, these Kernels, as befits soldiers of much training and experience, had with them their mess-tin. Not an ordinary mess-tin, my dears, but one which, on the score of economy (and the keynote of their party's policy is economy), combined the functions of guide, councillor and publicity agent, scanning the horizon with the keen eyes of the frontiersman, whose name is legion. This functionary, an aged kernel himself, wore in keeping with his high and exalted rank, a uniform of the new Italian shade of bulldust, piped with grains of salt and having on the shoulderstraps thereof the sign of the Crown and Anchor, insignia of rank. Naturally, each kernel was somewhat nutty, and encased in a hard exterior, which lead to the mistaken belief of some folks that they were hard cases or knuts, though most recognised them as being just plain nuts. As with the other kernels, the mess-tin had an outer case also, but in his case the case was known as a casey, which is very much greater than an ordinary Ellell Bee, having a bill with a much bigger sting and using more honeyed words.