name."

"And I always was the eldest," reiterated Eustace, hardly yet
understanding what it involved.

All the needful documents had been preserved and brought home. There
was the extract from the captain's log recording the burial at sea of
Harold Stanislas Alison, aged fifteen months, and the certificate of
baptism by a colonial clergyman of Harold, son of Ambrose and Alice
Alison, while Eustace was entered in the Northchester register,
having been born in lodgings, as Mr. Prosser well recollected, while
his poor young father lay under sentence of death.

It burst on him at last. "Do you mean that I have got it, and not
you?"

"That's about it," said Harold. "Never mind, Eu, it will all come to
the same thing in the end."

"You have none of it!"

"Not an acre. It all goes together; but don't look at me in that
way. There's Boola Boola, you know."

"You're not going back there to leave me?" exclaimed Eustace, with a
real sound of dismay, laying hold of his arm.

"Not just yet, at any rate," said Harold.

"No, no; nor at all," reiterated Eustace, and then, satisfied by the