“Oh, he cuts me, now he has you! He used about once a week to offer to show me what he was doing. Now he only offers once a month, and then always thinks better of it.”
“The thing is to get him to work at one thing at a time,” said Jeffreys, to whom Percy was always an interesting study. “As soon as he has learned that art he will do great things.”
“I think Percy would make a fine soldier,” said Raby, with an enthusiasm which quite captivated her companion, “he’s so brave and honest and determined. Isn’t he?”
“Yes, and clever too.”
“Of course; but my father always says a man needn’t be clever to be a good soldier. He says the clever soldiers are the least valuable.”
“Was your father a soldier?”
“Was? He is. He’s in Afghanistan now.”
“In the middle of all the fighting?”
“Yes,” said Raby, with a shade across her bright face. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? I half dread every time I see a letter or a newspaper. Mr Jeffreys!” added the girl, stopping short in her walk, “my father is the best and bravest man that ever lived.”
“I know he is,” said Jeffreys, beginning to wonder whether some of the father’s good qualities were not hereditary.