the Holy Land; and it was rather a joke against him that he
illustrated a large variety of subjects by reference to his favourite
topic, the holiday of his life.

"It smells of gunpowder," said Jim, decidedly, "and something else. I
can't tell what."

"Something one smells in a seaport town," said Tom.

"Can't be very delicious then," Jim retorted.

"It's not _quite_ the same," piped the widow; "but it reminds me very
much of an old bottle of attar of roses that was given to me when I
was at school, with a copy of verses, by a young gentleman who was
brother to one of the pupils. I remember Mr. Jones was quite annoyed
when he found it in an old box, where I am sure I had not touched it
for ten years or more; and I never spoke to him but once, on
Examination Day (the young gentleman, I mean). And its like--yes it's
certainly like a hair-wash Mr. Jones used to use. I've forgotten what
it was called, but I know it cost fifteen shillings a bottle; and
Macready threw one over a few weeks before his dear papa's death, and
annoyed him extremely."

Whilst the company were thus engaged, Master MacGreedy took advantage
of the general abstraction to secure half-a-dozen crackers to his own
share; he retired to a corner with them, where he meant to pick them
quietly to pieces by himself. He wanted the gay paper, and the motto,
and the sweetmeats; but he did not like the report of the cracker. And
then what he did want, he wanted all to himself.

"Give us a cracker," said Master Jim, dreamily.

The dogs, after a few dissatisfied snorts, had dropped from their
sitting posture, and were lying close together on the rug, dreaming and
uttering short commenting barks and whines at intervals. The twins were
now reposing lazily at the tutor's feet, and did not feel disposed to
exert themselves even so far as to fetch their own bonbons.

"There's one," said the tutor, taking a fresh cracker from his pocket.
One end of it was of red and gold paper, the other of transparent green
stuff with silver lines. The boys pulled it.

* * * * *

The report was louder than Jim had expected. "The firing has begun," he
murmured, involuntarily; "steady, steady!" these last words were to his
horse, who seemed to be moving under him, not from fear, but from
impatience. What had been the red and gold paper of the cracker was now
the scarlet and gold lace of his own cavalry uniform. He knocked a
speck from his sleeve, a