in his
mild, gentle way, found peace of mind.

But when James passed brilliantly out of Sandhurst, the thought seized
him that the good name which he valued so highly might be retrieved.
Colonel Parsons had shrunk from telling the youth anything of the
catastrophe which had driven him from the service; but now he forced
himself to give an exact account thereof. His wife sat by, listening
with pain in her eyes, for she knew what torture it was to revive that
half-forgotten story.

"I thought you had better hear it from me than from a stranger," the
Colonel said when he had finished. "I entered the army with the
reputation of my father behind me; my reputation can only harm you. Men
will nudge one another and say, 'There's the son of old Parsons, who
bungled the affair against the Madda Khels.' You must show them that
you're of good stuff. I acted for the best, and my conscience is at
ease. I think I did my duty; but if you can distinguish yourself--if
you can make them forget--I think I shall die a little happier."

The commanding officer of Jamie's regiment was an old friend of the
Colonel's, and wrote to him after a while to say that he thought well of
the boy. He had already distinguished himself in a frontier skirmish,
and presently, for gallantry in some other little expedition, his name
was mentioned in despatches. Colonel Parsons regained entirely his old
cheerfulness; Jamie's courage and manifest knowledge of his business
made him feel that at last he could again look the world frankly in the
face. Then came the Boer War; for the parents at Little Primpton and for
Mary Clibborn days of fearful anxiety, of gnawing pain--all the greater
because each, for the other's sake, tried to conceal it; and at last the
announcement in the paper that James Parsons had been severely wounded
while attempting to save the life of a brother officer, and was
recommended for the Victoria Cross.

II

The Parsons sat again in their dining-room, counting the minutes which
must pass before Jamie's arrival. The table was laid simply, for all
their habits were simple; and the blanc-mange prepared for the morrow's
festivities stood, uncompromising and stiff as a dissenting minister, in
the middle of the table. I wish someone would write an invective upon
that most detestable of all the national dishes, pallid, chilly,
glutinous, unpleasant to look upon, insipid in the mouth. It is a
preparation which seems to mark a transitio