A Soldier's Son

by Maude Mary Butler

"P.S. Bed-time. The post-bag had gone when I had finished my letter. I just want to tell you, Auntie came down to dinner. Every one was so surprised and delighted and we had such a happy evening. Uncle played games with us after dinner, and Auntie looked on. The time went so quickly, we were sorry when Uncle said: 'Bed-time, children. To your tents: double quick march.' So we all had to scamper away. Uncle Raymond came to dinner. He is so grave and stern, so different from Father. He went into the study whilst Uncle was playing with us."

[CHAPTER III.--A FORBIDDEN BOOK.]

Carol had always been a lonely boy. The companionship of other children was a pleasure he had never known. In the remote Devonshire village, where all the years of his young life had been spent, there were no children who could be invited to his home as friends and companions for him. First his mother's delicate health, and then his own, had prevented visits to or from his cousins. When he was seven years old a fall from his pony caused an injury to his hip, which eventually developed into what the doctors diagnosed as tubercular disease of the hip bone. For three years his mother had been slowly dying of consumption, and the boy had been the joy and brightness of her life. She did not live long after she was told that what she was suffering from he would suffer, too, in another form. She died about six months before the war broke out in South Africa, and fulfilling a promise made some time before, a favorite cousin, then resident in America, whose girlhood had been spent with her as a sister, came to take charge of the household and the young motherless invalid. Major Willmar was ordered to the front shortly after operations commenced, but before he went he had hopes that his boy would grow well and strong. There had been such a marked change in him from the day Cousin Alicia arrived, bringing to that saddened home love and--Truth.

It can, therefore, be easily understood that the first few days at the Manor were to Carol days almost of bewilderment. As soon as his cousins found that their joy in having Father back again, safe and sound, did not hurt Carol, nothing restrained their wild exuberance of spirits. They could not understand the gentle, reserved boy, who spoke with so much love and tenderness of his father, yet had no tears or sadness because he would return no more.

"Perhaps he doesn't quite understand," said Gwendolin.

"I think he does," said Edith, "and I am sure he loved Uncle as much as we love Father. There is such a far-away look in his eyes, when he speaks of his father and mother, just as if he were looking at something we cannot see. Although he is so gentle and kind, especially to the little ones, I am sure no one could persuade him to do anything he thought wrong. He is a dear boy. I am glad he is going to study with us for the present, because the boys at school would not understand him. Even Percy and Frank are inclined to mistake his gentleness for weakness. Yet I could imagine him standing and facing any real danger, when most boys would run away."

From the first Edith had conceived a great affection for her Cousin Carol, and, as a consequence, she understood him better. On many occasions she was able to help him, when Percy and Frank were somewhat brusque and impatient in their treatment of him. They could not understand his reluctance to join in some of their games. He loved to look on; but everything was new and strange to him. He had never been used to playing the games which were so much to Frank and Percy. Edith then quietly explained to her less thoughtful brothers that they should not expect a boy who had spent three years on an invalid's couch to be able to play the games in which they were so proficient.

Carol was often in the nursery, Nurse was so big and motherly. She had welcomed him, as if he had been one of her own children from the first. It was a fixed idea amongst the children that as long as there had been a Manor House, Nurse had presided over the nursery. She was always ready to tell them stories of their father and uncles and aunts in the old days. She even had tales of their grandfather, and many past generations of Mandevilles, and in all the stories, of however long ago, they imagined Nurse playing part. One thing they never could imagine: that was the Manor House without her.

When the little girls wanted him, and that was very frequently, Carol was always ready to go to the nursery, and often accompanied them on their walks. Percy and Frank considered it much beneath their dignity to take a walk "with the babies."

The improvement in Mrs. Mandeville's health, which had commenced on Carol's first visit to her room, continued. In a few days she had taken her usual place in the household, and the children rejoiced in the nightly visits to their bedrooms. How glad they were when there were no visitors downstairs, and they could keep her quite a long time.