"How the lad has grown!" said the captain, tears of pride starting into
his eyes, in spite of a very manful resolution to appear composed and
soldier-like.

"I was about to remark that myself, captain," observed the chaplain. "I
do think Mr. Robert has got to his full six feet--every inch as tall as
you are yourself, my good sir."

"That is he, Woods--and taller in one sense. He is a major, already, at
twenty-seven; it is a step I was not able to reach at near twice the
age."

"That is owing, my dear sir," answered the son quickly, and with a
slight tremor in his voice, "to your not having as kind a father as has
fallen to my share--or at least one not as well provided with the means
of purchasing."

"Say none at all, Bob, and you can wound no feeling, while you will
tell the truth. _My_ father died a lieutenant-colonel when I was a
school-boy; I owed my ensigncy to my uncle Sir Hugh, the father of the
present Sir Harry Willoughby; after that I owed each step to hard and
long service. Your mother's legacies have helped you along, at a faster
rate, though I do trust there has been some merit to aid in the
preferment."

"Speaking of Sir Harry Willoughby, sir, reminds me of one part of my
errand to the Hut," said the major, glancing his eye towards his
father, as if to prepare him for some unexpected intelligence.