XXIII. DONALD

XXIV. MY LORD BROCTON PILES UP HIS ACCOUNT

XXV. I SETTLE MY ACCOUNT WITH MY LORD BROCTON

XXVI. THE WAY OF A MAID WITH A MAN

EPILOGUE: THE LITTLE JACK




CHAPTER I

THE GREAT JACK


Our Kate, Joe Braggs, and I all had a hand in the beginning, and as great
results grew in the end out of the small events of that December morning,
I will set them down in order.

It began by my refusing point-blank to take Kate to the vicar's to watch
the soldiers march by. I loved the vicar, the grave, sweet, childless old
man who had been a second father to me since the sad day which made my
mother a widow, and but for the soldiers nothing would have been more
agreeable than to spend the afternoon with the old man and his books. But
my heart would surely have broken had I gone. A caged linnet is a sorry
enough sight in a withdrawing-room, but hang the cage on a tree in a