that the men who came before so bungled and scamped their work that an abominable state of things was made much worse.” —­ Those fellows will shout nobly for the Empire one of these days! —­ “I never saw her, but she spoke of me just before the end; spoke very kindly, says her mother.  Damnation!  I can write no more about it.  I know you don’t care to hear from me, but I’ll just say that I’m going out to New Zealand.  I don’t know what I shall do there, but a fellow has asked me to go with him, and it’s better than rotting here.  It may help me to escape the devil yet; if so, you shall hear.  Goodbye!"’

He thrust the letter back into his pocket.

‘I rather thought the end would be pyrogallic acid.’

‘He has the good sense to prefer ozone,’ said Morton.

’For a time, at all events. —­ Look behind you.  The young rascal is creeping this way.  He’d rather sit and listen to our talk than be with the other youngsters.  That’s wrong, you know.’

Morton look round, and saw Hugh Rolfe.  Seven years old now; slight, and with little or no colour in his cheeks; a wistful, timid smile on the too intelligent face.  He was gazing towards his father, and evidently wished to draw near, yet feared that his presence might not be welcome.  Morton beckoned him, and at once he ran and threw himself upon the grass by his father’s side.

‘Tired of playing?’ asked Harvey, with voice and look which betrayed a tenderness he was always trying to conceal.

’A little tired.  We are going to have tea soon. —­ May I look at this book, Father?’

‘No pictures.’

‘I don’t mind. —­ Yes, there’s a picture; a soldier!’

Interest quickened in the boy’s eyes, and he turned eagerly from title-page to text.  But just then there came a loud calling of his name from the other end of the garden.

‘They want you,’ said Harvey.  ’Off you go.  You can have the book another time.’

Hughie obeyed without hesitation, but his face had a weary look as he walked away to join the other children.

‘I must send him to the Grammar-School next year,’ said Rolfe.  ’It won’t do; he must be among boys, and learn to be noisy.  Perhaps I have been altogether wrong in teaching him myself.  What right has a man to teach, who can’t make up his mind on any subject of thought?  Of course I don’t talk to him about my waverings and doubtings, but probably they affect him.’

‘Don’t bother your head so much about it,’ replied Morton.  ’He’ll be all right as he grows stronger.’

A servant had brought out two little tables; tea was going to be served in the garden.  When it was ready, Mrs. Morton appeared; the men rose as she came towards them, a newspaper in her hand.

‘Have you noticed this?’ she asked of Rolfe, with a smile, pointing out a paragraph to him.

He read it; first to himself, then aloud.