boys sing. And, dash it all! he, John, was
going to sing to him.

At that moment Desmond was whispering to Scaife--

"I say, Demon; I'm jolly glad that I've not got to sing before _him_. I
bet Jonathan is in a funk."

"A big bit of luck," replied Scaife, reflectively. Then, seeing the
surprise on Desmond's face, he added, "If Jonathan can sing--and I
suppose he can, or he wouldn't be chosen--this is a chance----"

"Of what?"

"Caesar, sometimes I think you've no brains. Why, a chance of attracting
the notice of a tremendous swell--a man, they say, who never
forgets--never! Jonathan may want a commission in the Guards, as I do;
and if he pleases the great man, he may get it."

"Jonathan's not thinking of that," said Desmond. "Shush-h-h!"

The singers stood up. They faced the Field Marshal, and he faced them.
He looked hardest at Lawrence, pointed out to him by the Head Master.
Perhaps he was thinking of India; and the name of Lawrence indelibly cut
upon the memories of all who fought in the Mutiny. And Lawrence, you may
be sure, met his glance steadily, being fortified by it. The good fellow
felt terribly distressed, because he was leaving the Hill; and, being a
humble gentleman, the old songs served to remind him, not of what he had
done, but of what he had left undone--the words unspoken, the actions
never now to be performed. The chief caught his eye, smiled, and nodded,
as if to say, "I claim your father's son as a friend."

When the song came to an end, John was seized with an almost
irresistible impulse to bolt. His turn had come. He must stand up to
sing before nearly six hundred boys, who would stare down with gravely
critical and courteously amused eyes. And already his legs trembled as
if he were seized of a palsy. John knew that he could sing. His mother,
who sang gloriously, had trained him. From her he had inherited his
vocal chords, and from her he drew the knowledge how to use them.

When he stood up, pale and trembling, the silence fell upon his
sensibilities as if it were a dense, yellow fog. This silence, as John
knew, was an unwritten law. The small boy selected to sing to the
School, as the representative of the School, must have every chance. Let
his voice be heard! The master playing the accompaniment paused and
glanced at his pupil. John, however, was not looking at him; he was
looking within at a John he despised--a poltroon, a deserter about to
run from his first engagement. He knew th