d by a strong left stump, into which spoons, forks,
hooks, and all manner of ingenious contrivances can be fitted. Now,
cheer up, little mother, and I'll tell you what we will do. But first,
is there _nothing_ left? Do the creditors take everything?"

"All, I believe, except some of the furniture which has been kindly left
for us to start afresh with. But we must quit the old home next month.
At least, so I am told by my kind little lawyer, who looks after
everything, for _I_ understand nothing."

"Your mention of a lawyer reminds me, mother, that a poor sergeant, who
died a short time ago in Egypt, made me his executor, and as I am
painfully ignorant of the duties of an executor I'll go and see this
`kind little lawyer' if you will give me his address."

Leaving Miles to consult his lawyer, we will now turn to a meeting--a
grand tea-fight--in the great hall of the Institute, that took place a
few days after the return of the troop-ship which brought our hero and
his friends to England. Some telling incidents occurred at this fight
which render it worthy of notice.

First, Miss Robinson herself presided and gave a stirring address,
which, if not of much interest to readers who did not hear it, was a
point of immense attraction to the hundreds of soldiers, sailors, and
civilians to whom it was delivered, for it was full of sympathy, and
information, and humour, and encouragement, and, above all, of the
Gospel.

Everybody worth mentioning was there--that is, everybody connected with
our tale who was in England at the time. Miles and his mother of course
were there, and Armstrong with Emmy--ay, and with Willie the second
too--who was pronounced on all hands to be the born image of his father.
Alas for his father, if that had been true! A round piece of dough
with three holes punched in it and a little knot in the midst would have
borne as strong a resemblance to Miles as that baby did. Nevertheless,
it was a "magnificent" baby! and "_so_ good," undeniably good, for it
slept soundly in its little mother's lap the whole evening!

Stevenson was also there, you may be sure; and so were Moses and
Sutherland, and Rattling Bill Simkin and Corporal Flynn, with his mother
and Terence the Irish trooper, who fraternised with Johnson the English
trooper, who was also home on the sick-list--though he seemed to have a
marvellous colour and appetite for a sick man.

"Is that the `Soldiers Friend?'" asked Simkin, in a whisp