"Eh?" he asked.

Then he sent his look--it was a quick darting look that saw everything
in the twinkling of an ordinary person's eye--to the thin badly-dressed
figure in the rear. "Eh? The boy? Oh--ah! My newly-found grandson."

"He is scarcely what I had hoped to find," said Mr. Brown, apologetic
still. "Yet his mother was a good-looking woman and----"

"Be hanged to looks," said Mr. Carew. "He'll get on all the better
without 'em. And you were never anything to boast of yourself you know.
What's his name?"

"John."

"Um! John Brown. John Carew-Brown, we'll say. It's a pity it's not John
Brown Carew."

"That's a matter that can easily be altered. It can be merely John
Carew, if you like, and let the melodious Brown go hang."

"Eh? What does the boy say? What do you say John to changing your name
and letting the Brown go hang?"

To Mr. Brown's surprise and consternation, the boy gave an emphatic
"No."

"Ah!" said old Mr. Carew, "and how's that? Speak up, John."

"The boys 'ud forget me," said John anxiously, "and I'd have to begin
all over agen."

"What with?--Leave him alone, Brown."

"Thrashing 'em. They know me everywhere about Warrena. I can make 'em
all sit up. I don't want to change my name."

A sparkle came into the old man's eyes.

"Well said, my lad," he snapped. "I'd not have given a rap for you if
you'd have cast your name away as easily as a pinching pair o' boots.
Stick to your own name, John, and you'll look all the better after
mine."

He waited a bit, eyeing the boy up and down keenly. The thin brown face,
with its square determined mouth, quiet grey eyes and high forehead; the
sturdy figure, countrified clothes, copper-toed boots, all passed under
his scrutiny.

"So you're of the fighting kind?" he asked at last.

"Yes," said John proudly.

"Ah! You never were, you remember, Brown. Things might have been
different if you had been."

He waited again. Then he smiled queerly.

"John," he said, "your father's going away again to-night. You're my
grandson. It may not seem a great matter to you now--but it is, all the
same. You stay here. You and I have to take life together, boy--though
you're at one end of the ladder and I'm at t'other. Your name's your
name right enough, but I want you to be good enough to tack mine on to
it, and to do a bit of fighting for mine too if necessary. I've fought
for it hard in my day too. And now, John Carew-Brown, we'll have a bit
of lunch if it