His affection for his father was mingled with deep admiration, for he considered him the soul of honour and bravery, and had quite made up his mind that when he should be a man grown he would be a soldier too.
It was a merry little group on the verandah that evening. Captain and Mrs. Gidley reclined on deck-chairs, whilst Dick sat on a low stool at his mother's feet, his hands clasped around his knees, occasionally joining in his parents' conversation.
"Blair will be sent home as soon as he is well enough," Captain Gidley remarked presently; "I saw him this afternoon, sat half-an-hour with him, in fact, and he is decidedly better."
"That is good news," Mrs. Gidley replied, whilst Dick looked up at his father quickly, his pale face full of lively interest, for Colonel Blair was the colonel of his father's regiment, and had had a serious illness from which he was now recovering.
"I am so very glad Colonel Blair is better, because I like him so much, and Mrs. Blair will be pleased," the little boy said simply. "Do you mean he is going to England, father? Will Mrs. Blair go too?"
"Yes, my son, most certainly.— What is it, Nanukchund?"
The question was addressed to an Indian servant who had quietly approached them. He was a brown, lean Hindu, clad in native dress, who, when he had delivered a message to his master, withdrew to the far end of the verandah, where he stood in an attitude of unconscious dignity, his arms crossed upon his breast, his dark eyes fixed upon the shadowy landscape.
So accustomed were the Gidleys to Nanukchund that they continued their conversation regardless of his near presence; and the man himself, standing immovable like a statue, showed no signs of hearing a word that was being said.
"I was told to-day that the cry of a 'fau' was heard last night in this neighbourhood," Captain Gidley said by-and-by, "but I do not know if such was really the case."
"Oh Richard!" cried Mrs. Gidley, glancing nervously around, "don't say that! You positively terrify me!"