“Well, I suppose they have been sailors?” said Dudley.

“Not at all; we have only had one admiral, and three naval captains in our family during the last hundred years.  Your father, Dudley, served the Queen as a governor in India quite as well as if he were fighting for her.  Roy’s father was her servant in Canada, though he had to do with politics; your uncle James served as a member of Parliament.  The Queen has numbers of servants.  I always think policemen are quite as brave as soldiers!”

“And what can a one-legged Bertram do?” Roy asked, with a pathetic smile that went straight to his aunt’s heart.

“There’s no reason why he shouldn’t go into Parliament, and perhaps end by being a member of the cabinet.”

“I never quite understand what that is,” said Roy, contemplatively.  “I don’t think I should like to be shut up in a stuffy cupboard.  They shut them up in it to talk, don’t they, Aunt Judy?”

How Miss Bertram laughed!  But whilst she was explaining what a cabinet was, Rob crept away from the window muttering, “I suppose as how I could be a policeman, but I’d a deal rather be a soldier!”

XI

A GIFT TO THE QUEEN

“Can I see Master Roy, please?”

It was Rob who spoke, and he seemed breathless with haste and importance, as he stood at the front door one cold afternoon the end of October.

“You can give me your message,” the young footman said, rather superciliously.

“No, I can’t,” was the blunt retort; “ask Master Roy to speak to me.”

Rob gained his point, and was ushered into the library where Roy and Dudley were amusing themselves in the firelight.

The old nursery was not much used now, and the library had begun to be considered the boys’ room, partly because owing to it being on the ground floor, and opening into the garden, it was more convenient for Roy’s use.

Roy was now the possessor of a cork leg; and with the help of a stick he was nearly as active as ever.  His spirits were as high, and his purposes as plentiful as before his illness; and his grandmother and aunt marvelled that he could take his deformity so lightly.  Yet there were times unknown to any, when Roy’s brave little heart sank with the consciousness of it; and often in bed at night his pillow would be wet with tears.

“Oh, God,” he would often pray, “you wouldn’t let me die, do help me to do something worth living for.  I feel my leg will keep away all the opportunities now, but please give me something big to do for you still.”

“Hulloo, Rob, come on,” was Roy’s exclamation as he caught sight of his friend.  “Just look at Nibble and Dibble, we’re teaching them to draw a cart.  It makes you die of laughing to look at them.  There they go, and Dibble turns head over heels in his excitement!”

Roy’s happy laugh rang out, but though Dudley joined him, Rob’s face was grave and set.