next day but one, and in due course Max drove up with his
portmanteau, and was ushered by a red-haired, curly-headed footman to
Kenneth's room.

"The maister's not in," said the footman; "but she was to--I was to say
that he'd soon be pack--back, and--"

"Why, Scoody, I didn't know you," cried Max. "How you have grown!"

"Yes, she's--I mean, sir, I have grown a good deal and master says I
haven't done."

There was the rattle of a latch-key in the outer door, and a tall,
handsome young fellow, thoroughly soldierly-looking in every point,
strode into the room.

"Max, old chap!" he cried, catching his hands and standing shaking them
heartily. "Why, what a great--I say, what a beard."

"And you six feet!"

"No, no--five feet ten."

"And moustached, and a regular dragoon!"

"How did you know that?"

"Know that?"

"Yes; I've just got my commission in the Thirtieth Dragoons."

"I congratulate you!" cried Max. "`Full many a shot at random sent,'
etcetera."

"Then you did not know? Well, never mind that; only it isn't all
pleasure. The governor says it is too expensive a service for me to go
in. The old fellow's not very flush of money, you see."

"Indeed?" said Max quietly.

"Well, never mind that either. But I say, what are you going in for--
Church or Law?"

"Neither. I think I shall settle down as a country gentleman."

"Yes, of course," said Kenneth hastily. "Here, let me show you your
room. We'll have a snug _tete-a-tete_ dinner, and talk about our old
fishing days, and the boating."

"Yes," cried Max; "and the fishing and boating to come."

"Ah!" said Kenneth thoughtfully; and the conversation drifted off into
minor matters, and about Kenneth's prospects as a soldier.

The _tete-a-tete_ dinner was eaten, and they became as it were three
boys again, Scoodrach trying to look very sedate, but his cheeks shining
and eyes flashing as he listened, while pretending to be busy over his
work. Then at last the young men were seated together over their
coffee, and the conversation took a fresh turn.

"My father?" said Kenneth, in answer to a question; "oh, very well and
jolly. I say, do you two go down much to--to Dunroe?"

"No," said Max huskily. "You do not seem to know my father has been
dead these six months."

"I beg your pardon, Max, old fellow. I ought to have known. Shall you
go down to Dunroe much now?"

"I hope so--often," said Max.

Kenneth was silent, and sat gazing dreami