ompany.'

But Mrs. Ross assured him that she would not in the least mind such
solitude; she was reading the third volume of an exciting novel, and
would not be sorry to finish it. And as soon as this was settled and the
coffee served, the gong sounded, and they all adjourned to the
schoolroom.

Michael never missed this function, as he called it. He liked to sit in
his corner and watch the rows of boyish faces before him, and try to
imagine what their future would be; and, above all things, he loved to
hear the fresh young voices uniting in their evening hymn; but on this
evening he regarded them with some degree of sadness.

'They have the best of it,' he thought rather moodily; 'they little know
what is before them, poor fellows! and the hard rubs fate has in store
for them.' And then, as they filed past him and one little fellow smiled
at him, he drew him aside and put him between his knees.

'You look very happy, Willie. I suppose you have not been caned
to-day?'--a favourite joke of the Captain's.

'No, sir,' returned Willie proudly; 'but Jefferson minor fought me, and
I licked him. You may ask the other fellows, and they would tell you it
was all fair. He is a head taller than me, and I licked him,' finished
Willie, with an air of immense satisfaction on his chubby baby face.

'Ah, you licked him, did you?' returned Michael absently; 'and Jefferson
minor is beaten. I hope you shook hands afterwards; fair fight and no
malice, Willie. There's a shilling for you because you did not show the
white feather in the face of the enemy. You will be at the head of a
brigade yet, my boy.' For all Dr. Ross's lads were bitten with the
military fever, and from Willie Sayers to broad-shouldered Jeff Davidson
each boy nourished a secret passion and desire to follow the Captain's
footsteps, and were ready to be hewed and slashed into small pieces if
only the Victoria Cross might be their reward.

As soon as the curly-haired champion had left him, Michael followed his
cousin into the study. Dr. Ross had already lighted his lamp, and roused
his fire into a cheerful blaze.

'What is it, Mike? you look bothered,' he asked, as Michael drew up his
chair. 'Nothing wrong with the money, I hope?'

'What should be wrong about it?' returned Michael rather disdainfully;
'it is about as safe as the Bank of England. No; it is something very
different--a matter that I may say concerns us all. I heard something
the other day rather uncom