He had come in from school one cold day in the beginning of December, and was watching with keen interest the roasting of an apple suspended from a string in front of the fire, when there was a sharp knock at the door, and the footman from the Hall appeared.

’The master wants you to let the youngster come up with me now and speak to him.’

‘What about?’ questioned Mrs. John, rather alarmed at this summons, and wondering if Teddy had been up to mischief.

‘He won’t keep him long.’  Then, as excited Teddy began pulling on his great-coat, he whispered something into his mother’s ear, which had the effect of completely reassuring her, and bringing a pleased smile about her lips.  Teddy was delighted to go up to the Hall, and he trotted along by the side of the tall young footman, keeping up a brisk conversation as he went.

‘I shall never be a footman,’ he was asserting; ’I couldn’t keep my legs so stiff.  You’re always like the soldiers when they stand at Attention.  Don’t you never kick your legs out in the kitchen, or have you got stiff knees?’

‘I can kick out as much as I like,’ responded the young man, in rather an offended tone.

’Don’t you think it’s nicer to be a soldier?  Wouldn’t you like to be one?’

‘No; their grub is something shocking, and they live like cattle!’

Teddy would not allow this, and the discussion began to get somewhat heated, when their arrival at the house put an end to it.

‘I say, just tell me, is the colonel angry?’ asked Teddy, as looking into the large, brightly lighted hall, he suddenly felt his diminutive size.

‘Not he.  Wipe your feet, and take your cap off.’

Teddy stepped in upon the soft rugs almost on tiptoe, and the colonel himself came out into the hall to meet him.  ’Come in, my little man, and don’t be frightened.’

Teddy held his head erect as he followed the colonel into a bright, cheery room, where a group of ladies and gentlemen were round the fire enjoying their cup of five o’clock tea.

Mrs. Graham came forward and gave him a kindly greeting.

‘This is our would-be soldier,’ said Colonel Graham—­’the “button-boy,” as I hear he is called.  Some of you remember his story told in our schoolroom to the regiment passing through in the summer, and we weren’t surprised to hear of his narrow escape from death from trying to regain his button.  But perhaps you’ve forgotten all about it, youngster?  A button isn’t worth much sorrow after the first pang of its loss is over.’

Teddy’s face was a picture:  the blood rushed up to his forehead, his eyes flashed, and with clenched hands he said boldly, ’Do you think I could ever forget my father’s button, sir?  I’d rather have it back than anything else in the world!  And I’m going to get it back, too!’

‘But it’s at the bottom of the river, isn’t it?’

’I don’t know where it is, but God does, and I ask Him every day to send it back to me.  I’m quite sure He will, and I think it will be this Christmas.’