You wish you had been there?" said Singh. "Why, I thought you said
that you wouldn't fight any more."

"To be sure; so I did. Well, then, I don't wish I had been there. But
I say," continued Glyn, laughing merrily, "what a lot of Greek he must
know!"

"But he doesn't," cried Singh. "He doesn't know much more than I do,
for he came to me to help him with something the other day."

"Well, then, as Wrenchy says, how what he does know must have disagreed
with him!"

"Yes," said Singh thoughtfully, as he laid his hand on his companion's
shoulder and they strolled down the garden together, waiting for the
breakfast-bell to ring. "Poor old fellow! Poor old fellow! Poor old
fellow!"

"Well, you are a queer chap, Singh! You say you want to be thoroughly
English, and you talk like that."

"Well, I do want to be English," cried Singh, "and I try very hard to do
as you do, because I know what guardian says is right."

"Well, you never heard me pity Slegge and call him poor old fellow."

"I didn't. I meant poor Wrenchy, who wants money so badly. It must be
very queer to want money very badly and not be able to get it."

"I suppose so," replied Glyn. "I seem to have always had enough, while
as for you, you're as rich as rich; quite a king you'll be some day,
with servants and a little army, and everything you want. I say, what
do you mean to do with all your money?"

"I don't know," said Singh, laughing, and then knitting his brows, "but
I should like to give Wrench some. He's such a good, hard-working
fellow, and always does everything you tell him with such a pleasant
smile. I wonder how he will get all he wants. Do you think he will
find it some day in a garden or in the street?"

"Or have a big lump of it tumble out of the moon, or find that it's been
raining gold all over the Doctor's lawn some morning when he gets up?
No, I don't--not a bit; and there goes the breakfast-bell, so come
along."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A SQUABBLE.

"Anybody seen anything of Singh?" cried Glyn one day as he went out into
the cricket-field, where Slegge was batting to the bowling of some of
his little slaves and several of the older boys were looking on.

"Baa! Baa! Baa!" cried Slegge, imitating a sheep, and stopping to rest
upon his bat. "Hark at the great lamb calling after its black shepherd!
Go on, some of you, and help me," and in answer to his appeal a chorus
of bleating arose, in which, in obedience to a gest