"Not for yourself, I hope," said the doctor, absently.

"Come into the gun-room for one moment," said Birch. "It is very
important. Do you know I've a letter from Peter?"

"From Peter! Why should _you_ have a letter from Peter?" said the
doctor, and his uninterested tone became alert.

"I'm sure I don't know why not. I was always fond of Peter," said the
canon, humbly. "Will you cast your eye over it? You see, it's written
from Eton, and posted two days later in London."

Dr. Blundell read the letter, which was written in a schoolboy hand,
and not guiltless of mistakes in spelling.


"_DEAR CANON BIRCH_,

"_As my father wouldn't hear of my going out to South Africa, I've
taken the law into my own hands. I wrote to my mother's cousin, Lord
Ferries, to ask him to include me in his yeomanry corps. Of course
I let him suppose papa was willing and anxious, which perhaps was a
low-down game, but I remembered that all's fair in love and war; and
besides, I consider papa very nearly a pro-Boer. We've orders to sail
on Friday, which is sharp work; but I should be eternally disgraced
now if they stopped me. As my father never listens to reason, far less
to me, you had better explain to him that if he's any regard for the
honour of our name, he's no choice left. I expect my mother had better
not be told till I'm gone, or she will only fret over what can't be