"I've brought a letter from your brother, Mr. Henry Moncrief. He couldn't bring it himself, because of an accident——"
"An accident?"
"Nothing very serious, sir. A sprain, I think. He asked me to take the letter for him, and as he's the father of a school chum of mine, Stan Moncrief; I brought it along, and here it is," Paul explained rapidly, as he handed Mr. Moncrief the letter.
Paul had by this time entered the room. Directly Mr. Moncrief glanced at the letter his face became very grave. He went from the room, and his wife followed him, evidently as anxious as himself to know the contents. The servants retired, and Paul was thus left alone with the boy and girl.
There was not the least shyness about the former, for directly his parents left the room, he came forward and introduced himself.
"I'm Harry Moncrief—named after the uncle you brought that letter from. He was my godfather, you know. This is my sister, Connie." Connie, who was a pretty, fair girl, looked embarrassed at her brother's blunt method of introduction, but he rattled on. "Rather good for a girl. Not so slow as most of them. Can take a turn with the bells or clubs"—by bells and clubs was meant dumb-bells and Indian-clubs—"and she can scout at cricket. Didn't I hear you say you were a chum of cousin Stanley's?"
"Yes; we're in the same Form."
"What—at Garside School?" asked the boy eagerly.
Paul nodded.