"Now in what way have I offended the Lion?" asked the boy, and for the first time I heard his whimsical laugh, which was the one finishing touch needed to brighten his thoughtful, almost sad, young personality.
"You sang one of your own national songs, boy," he exclaimed, "and never piped a note for the country offering you hospitality."
"A thousand pardons, Sir Lion," cried the boy, "here goes for the Empire," and from his beautiful lips came the strains of "God Save the King."
"A sweet apology," exclaimed the man; "boy, that goes to my heart. Once years ago I knew a young singer—oh! you take me back."
"The young singer being my mother," said the boy quickly.
The man bit his lip. Then he nodded his head and walked on. Presently he said in quite a matter-of-fact voice, "This pasture back of the house is for the sheep. They nibble closer than cows."
"And the grass is slippery," said the boy, "and I am sliding about on it."
"I will get you some proper country boots with nails," said Mr. Devering.
"Thank you, sir," said Dallas gratefully.