“By-and-by—­I have the feeling of it still, when I think of it—­I chanced to look up, and saw my father standing over the top of the dyke, looking down on us.  The other boys, catching sight of my face, lifted their eyes and saw him, too; and there was a pretty moment.  He said never a word for some time; no more did we.  At last, ‘What are you smoking, boys?’ he asked, speaking in his usual even voice; yet I did not like the sound of it, somehow.

“So we told him, sweet fern; but he shook his head at that.  ’That is poor stuff, indeed,’ he said.  ’Now, if you must smoke, here is something worth your while.  Take these, Thomas, and share them with your friends; they are genuine, and I hope you may enjoy them.’

“With that he took a parcel of cigars from his pocket, and handed them to me; then bowed to us all very grand, and marched off, never looking behind him.

“I was not comfortable in my mind at this, for I knew my father pretty well, and had looked for something different; but the other lads were in high feather, and lighted their cigars on the instant, bidding me do likewise, and crying out that my father was a fine old buck, and that I was a lucky fellow to have such a parent.  I could not be behind the rest, so I lit up, too, and for a few minutes all was as gay as a feast.  But, Harry Monmouth, sir! in half an hour we were the sickest boys in Westchester County.  It was all we could do to crawl home to our beds; and not one of us but was sure he was dying, and cried to his mother to send for the doctor before it was too late.”

The Colonel laughed heartily, the boys chiming in with a merry peal.

“What were the cigars?” asked Phil.

“The strongest Havanas that were made,—­that was all.  Fine cigars, I have no doubt; but I was forty years old before I touched tobacco again, and I have never smoked anything less delicate than a Manilla.”

He puffed in silence, chuckling to himself now and then; the boys meditated on the tale they had heard.

“Colonel Ferrers,” said Gerald, at last.

“Yes, my boy.  You are thinking that it is time to join the ladies?  Quite right; we will go in at once.”

“I wanted to ask,” said Gerald, “if you don’t mind telling us, that is—­well—­I was only thinking that perhaps those cigars you offered us—­were they very mild ones, Colonel Ferrers?”

The Colonel looked grave for a moment, then he gave way and laughed aloud.

“Found me out, hey?” he said.  “Well, since you ask me, Master Merryweather, I believe they were—­not—­the mildest that are made.  But you—­hark! what was that?”

From the next room came the sound of a crash, and then a cry.

“I am very sorry, sir,” said the boys in a breath.  “It is probably our sister Gertrude, who has broken something.”

“She has no fingers to her thumbs,” added Gerald, “and the result is destruction.”

They passed into the next room, and found that there had indeed been an accident.  Gertrude had knocked down a great pink vase, and broken it into fifty pieces; she had also fallen over it, and now sat among the ruins on the floor, too frightened to cry, while the others picked up the pieces as best they might.