"this is good. What, an answer already? You lucky young
dog, to have the best woman in the world for a mother. Bless her!" he
cried, kissing the letter and placing it with the other; "I'll read that
when you are gone. Not come to stay, I suppose?"

"No, father," cried the boy, whose eyes flashed with excitement as they
took in every portion of the officer in turn. "I've only come to bring
the note; mother said you wished to see me."

"Of course, my boy, so as to have a few words. I just catch a glimpse
of you now and then, but it's only a nod."

"And I do often long so to come to you," cried Frank, with his arm upon
his father's shoulder.

"That's right, boy," said Sir Robert, smiling and taking his hands; "but
it wouldn't do for the captain of the guard to be hugging his boy before
everybody, eh? We men must be men, and do all that sort of thing with a
nod or a look. As long as we understand each other, my boy, that's
enough, eh?"

"Yes, father, of course."

"But bravo, Frank; you're growing and putting on muscle. By George,
yes! Arms are getting hard, and--good--fine depth of chest for your
age. Don't, because you are the Prince's page, grow into a dandy
macaroni milk-sop, all scent, silk, long curls, and pomatum. I want you
to grow into a man, fit for a soldier to fight for his king."

"And that's what I want to do, father," said the lad proudly.

"Of course you do; and so you will. You are altering wonderfully, boy.
Why, hallo! I say," cried the captain, with mock seriousness, as he
held his son sidewise and gazed at his profile against the light.

"What's the matter, father?" cried Frank, startled.

"Keep your head still, sir; I want to look. Yes, it's a fact--very
young and tender, but there it is; it's coming up fast. Why, Frank boy,
you'll soon have to shave."

"What nonsense!" cried the boy, reddening partly at being laughed at,
but quite as much with satisfaction.

"It's no nonsense, you young dog. There's your moustache coming, and no
mistake. Why, if I had a magnifying-glass, I could see it quite
plainly."

"I say, father, don't; I can't stop long, and--and--that teases one."

"Then I won't banter you, boy," cried Sir Robert, clapping him heartily
on the shoulder; "but, I say, you know: it's too bad of you, sir. I
don't like it."

"What is, father? What have I done?"

"Oh I suppose you can't help it; but it's too bad of you to grow so
fast, and make your mother look an