"No--thanks--that is--I have no doubt you teach them all that's right,
and we are exceedingly gratified with the way in which you conduct the
school.--I say Val," cried Scoutbush, who could support the part of
patron no longer, "what pretty little ducks they are, I wish I had a
dozen of them! Come you here!" and down he sat on a bench, and gathered
a group round him.

"Now, are you all good children? I'm sure you look so!" said he, looking
round into the bright pure faces, fresh from Leaven, and feeling himself
the nearer heaven as he did so. "Ah! I see Mr. Mellot's been drawing you
pictures. He's a clever man, a wonderful man, isn't he? I can't draw you
pictures, nor tell you stories, like your schoolmistress. What shall I
do?"

"Sing to them, Fred!" said Valencia.

And he began warbling a funny song, with a child on each knee, and his
arms round three or four more, while the little faces looked up into
his, half awe-struck at the presence of a live lord, half longing to
laugh, but not sure whether it would be right.

Valencia and Campbell stood close together, exchanging looks.

"Dear fellow!" whispered she, "so simple and good when he is himself!
And he must go to that dreadful war!"

"Never mind. Perhaps by this very act he is earning permission to come
back again, a wiser and a more useful man."

"How then?"