'Joe! what has brought you down? Go to bed again,' said Honor.
'Not a bit; come here. I am the eldest in the house. I take the command by virtue of seniority,' shouted Charles, and springing from the chair, he caught the little white figure, brought the child in, and seated him on his knee. 'I am your brother,' said Charles. 'Mind this. From henceforth you obey me, and don't heed what Honor says.'
Honor looked at her father. Would he allow this? Oliver made no remark.
'What is your name, young jack-a-napes?' asked Charles, 'and what brings you here?'
'I am Joseph, that is Joe,' answered the little boy. 'I heard your voice, and something said about soldiers, and I crawled downstairs to see who you were.'
'Let the child go to bed,' asked the father. 'He will catch a chill in his nightshirt.'
'Not he,' replied Charles. 'The kid wants to hear what I have to say, and you are all on pins, I know.'
'Well, that is true,' said Oliver Luxmore. 'I shall be glad to learn what brings you home. You have not served your full time. You have not bought yourself out. If you were on leave, you would be in uniform.'
'Oh, I'm out of the service,' answered Charles. 'Look here.' He held out his right hand. The forefinger was gone. 'I cut it off myself, because I was sick of serving his Majesty, tired of war and its hardships. I felt such an inextinguishable longing for home, that I cut off my trigger finger to obtain my discharge.'
'For shame, Charles, for shame!' exclaimed Honor.