The holidays had commenced about a week when Harry, now duly appointed to H. M. S. Alcestis, was to come home on leave, as he proudly expressed it.
A glad troop of brothers and sisters, with the doctor himself, walked up to the station to meet him, and who was happiest when, from the window, was thrust out the rosy face, with the gold band? Mary gave such a shriek and leap, that two passengers and one guard turned round to look at her, to the extreme discomfiture of Flora and Norman, evidenced by one by a grave “Mary! Mary!” by the other, by walking off to the extreme end of the platform, and trying to look as if he did not belong to them, in which he was imitated by his shadow, Tom.
Sailor already, rather than schoolboy, Harry cared not for spectators; his bound from the carriage, and the hug between him, and Mary would have been worthy of the return from the voyage. The next greeting was for his father, and the sisters had had their share by the time the two brothers thought fit to return from their calm walk on the platform.
Grand was it to see that party return to the town—the naval cadet, with his arm linked in Mary’s, and Aubrey clinging to his hand, and the others walking behind, admiring him as he turned his bright face every moment with some glad question or answer, “How was Margaret?” Oh, so much better; she had been able to walk across the room, with Norman’s arm round her—they hoped she would soon use crutches—and she sat up more. “And the baby?” More charming than ever—four teeth—would soon walk—such a darling! Then came “my dirk, the ship, our berth.” “Papa, do ask Mr. Ernescliffe to come here. I know he could get leave.”
“Mr. Ernescliffe! You used to call him Alan!” said Mary.
“Yes, but that is all over now. You forget what we do on board. Captain Gordon himself calls me Mr. May!”
Some laughed, others were extremely impressed.
“Ha! There’s Ned Anderson coming,” cried Mary. “Now! Let him see you, Harry.”
“What matters Ned Anderson to me?” said Harry; and, with an odd mixture of shamefacedness and cordiality, he marched full up to his old school-fellow, and shook hands with him, as if able, in the plenitude of his officership, to afford plenty of good-humoured superiority. Tom had meantime subsided out of all view. But poor Harry’s exultation had a fall.
“Well!” graciously inquired ‘Mr. May’, “and how is Harvey?”