Connie immediately entered the house.

"May I speak to yer, ma'am?" she said.

"Certainly; but where is the boy?"

"He's quite safe, ma'am--he's with Giles."

"Why did he go out? He did very wrong."

"I did wrong too," said Connie. "I tuk him. He's frightened, ma'am.

Ronnie's rare and frightened. He heered wot the old gentleman said."

"How could he hear?" said Mrs. Anderson.

Connie told.

"'Tain't true, ma'am, is it?" said Connie. "Yer wouldn't niver, niver, let little Ronald go away?"

"Yes, but I must. I am very sad. I wish I needn't send him; but the gentleman who called to-day is his father's uncle, and his nearest relation in the world. Connie, you must bring Ronald home. I will go with you myself to fetch him."

"Oh, ma'am," said Connie, beginning to sob, "it 'ull break his 'eart."

"No, Connie," answered Mrs. Anderson. "Hearts like Ronald's--brave and true and faithful--don't break; they endure. Besides that, the old gentleman--Mr. Harvey--will not be unkind to him; I am certain of that."

So Connie and Mrs. Anderson returned side by side to the house where Giles and Ronald were waiting for them.

When they entered they saw a picture which Mrs. Anderson could never forget: the dying boy, with his radiant face, lying on the bed half-supported by pillows, the crimson and gold coverlet making a wonderful patch of color; and Ronald, the tears still wet on his cheeks, but his eyes very bright, his lips firm, his whole att.i.tude that of a soldier's child.

The moment he saw Mrs. Anderson he went up to her.

"I am ashamed," he said. "Giles has told me the son of a V. C. man should not be a coward. It is all right--I am going back."

Mrs. Anderson pressed the boy's hand.

"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Ronald," she said. Then she turned and talked a little longer to Giles. She saw how weak the child was, and knew, with a woman's perception, what a very little time longer he had to live in this old world.

"My sister's in the country, ma'am," said Giles in his brightest manner.

"She's looking for a little house for her an' me--two winders in our room--that's wot Sue an' me thought we 'ud like--and iverythink wery purty. Sue may be back any day. She's takin' a good bit of a time a-lookin' for the 'ouse; but she'll find it, an' then I'll go there."

"But are you strong enough to be moved, Giles?" inquired Mrs. Anderson.

"Yus," said Giles in his confident tone, "quite strong enough. I want to see the country, and to live in it for a spell, afore I go right 'ome to the best Country of all. Sue's lookin' out; she'll be back--oh, any day, for she knows the time's short."

"Giles," said Connie, "you're too tired to talk any more."

She gave the boy some of his restorative medicine, and Ronald went up and kissed him. "Don't forget," said Giles, "brave fathers----"

"Not me!" answered Ronald. "Brave fathers for ever!" Then Ronald went away.

Mrs. Anderson took his hand and led him back to the house. She did not scold him for going out with Connie. She did not mean to reproach him at all; he had made a great victory; she felt proud of him. When supper had come to an end she called the boy to her:

"Ronald dear, I wish to say something. If you were a coward to-day, so was I."

"You--my aunt?" said Ronald. "Oh no--no!"

"Yes. I didn't want to part with you."

Ronald shivered.

"Won't you ever see me any more?"

"I hope so. Mr. Harvey was very kind."

"Is his name Harvey--same as mine?"

"Yes, darling; he is your father's uncle, and your father lived with him in his old place in Somersetshire when he was a boy. He loved your father. He'll tell you lots of stories about him."

"About when does he expect father home?" asked Ronald.

"He doesn't know. Perhaps, Ronald--perhaps--never."

But here Ronald gave himself a little shake.

"I know father's coming back," he said--"feel it in my bones."

There was silence then between the woman and the boy. After a long time Ronald spoke:

"He made mother cry, all the same."

"He told me about that. He wasn't really unkind to her. I, on the whole, like him, Ronald, and I think you can do a lot for him--I think your father would wish it."

"Would he?" said Ronald, his eyes sparkling.

"I think so. I expect G.o.d wants you to help him. He's a hard old man because he has no one to love him, but he did care for your father."

Ronald flung his arms round Mrs. Anderson's neck and kissed her.

That night it must be owned that he slept badly; and early--very early--in the morning he awoke.

"Times is pretty bad," thought the boy to himself; "and there's lots o'

battles round. But oh, Giles! brave fathers for ever! You and me won't disgrace our fathers, will we, Giles?"

Then he got up and dressed himself, and went downstairs and waited until Mrs. Anderson arrived. As soon as she entered the room he said one word to her--"When?"

"Ten o'clock," said Mrs. Anderson. It was eight o'clock then.

"Two hours more," said Ronald.

During those two hours he was very busy. He packed his bricks, and helped Mrs. Anderson to put his very scanty wardrobe into a very tiny trunk. The time went by. Ten o'clock struck, and, sharp to the minute, a cab drew up at the door.