irectly," said Captain Bob. "The day before I was wounded I had
it on first-rate authority that---- Hallo! here's my young brother.
Excuse me, Van Drissel," and without further ceremony he darted into the
hall as a lad in the uniform of the O.T.C., who had just got out of a
taxi, flew up the steps three at a time and dashed in with a shout.

"Why, Bob, old boy!"

"Dennis, dear old man! This is a bit of luck! How are you?"

"Top-hole!" laughed the new-comer, beaming all over his face, which was
a clean-shaven, boyish reproduction of his brother's, brown as a berry
from the arduous training he had undergone with the Artists', and,
breaking loose from Bob's grip, he kissed his mother tenderly.

"You got my wire, dear little mater, but you didn't expect me so soon.
It is good to be home again, even if it's only 'How d'you do?' and
'Bye-bye.' But isn't it fine putting me in Bob's battalion? How are the
kids? And, I say, mater, is there any grub going? I didn't wait for
breakfast before I left, and I'm hungry as a hunter."

The wounded Belgian lieutenant in the adjoining room bit his lips as he
overheard the joyful greetings. The rain had cleared, and as he stood
looking out where the trim lawn sloped down to the water, he saw a
couple of English Tommies in hospital blue sculling round one of the
tufted islets.

"Dennis, let me introduce you to Lieutenant Van Drissel, of the Belgian
army," said Bob, coming in as Van Drissel turned round. "This is my
brother whom we have been talking about," and the two shook hands.

"Glad to meet you," said Dennis frankly.

"Lucky bargee," smiled Van Drissel. "Isn't that right?"

"Ah, you speak English? Yes, it is quite right. I am," laughed Dennis.

"He speaks everything under the sun," said his brother. "And, by the
way, Dennis is a great stunt on languages. You two will be able to make
us feel thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. My regular verbs are as rusty
as a trench button."

"Will you smoke?" said the Belgian, producing a silver cigarette-case.

"Not just now, thanks. I'm going to have some grub first, and if you
don't mind I'll bunk upstairs and get a sluice."

"That boy is one of the best in the world, although he's my own
brother," explained Bob Dashwood when Dennis had gone.

"How old?"

"Eighteen and a half," replied Bob.

"It is young to be killed," said Van Drissel gravely.

"But he isn't killed yet. Never knew such a fellow for falling on his
feet. Of course,