to the service of his country, Mrs. Simpson undid her bonnet-strings, fairly turned her back on my father, and was quite unconscious when Martha handed the potatoes; and she left us wreathed in smiles, and resolved that Mr. Simpson should buy their son Horace a commission instead of taking him into the business.  Mr. Simpson did not share her views, and I believe he said some rather nasty things about swaggering, and not having one sixpence to rub against another.  And Mrs. Simpson (who was really devoted to Horace and could hardly bear him out of her sight) reflected that it was possible to get shot as well as to grow a moustache if you went into the army; but she still maintained that she should always remember the Colonel as a thorough gentleman, and a wonderful judge of the character of boys.

The Colonel made great friends with the Woods, and he was deeply admired by our rector, who, like many parsons, had a very military heart, and delighted in exciting tales of the wide world which he could never explore.  It was perhaps natural that my father should hardly be devoted to a stranger who had practically reproached his negligence, but the one thing that did draw him towards the old Indian officer was his habit of early rising.  My father was always up before any of us, but he generally found the Colonel out before him, enjoying the early hours of the day as men who have lived in hot climates are accustomed to do.  They used to come in together in very pleasant moods to breakfast; but with the post-bag Lorraine’s uncle was sure to be moved to voluble indignation, or pity, or to Utopian plans to which my father listened with puzzled impatience.  He did not understand the Colonel, which was perhaps not to be wondered at.

His moral courage had taken away our breath, and physical courage was stamped upon his outward man.  If he was anything he was manly.  It was because he was in some respects very womanly too, that he puzzled my father’s purely masculine brain.  The mixture, and the vehemence of the mixture, were not in his line.  He would have turned “Crayshaw’s” matters over in his own mind as often as hay in a wet season before grappling with the whole bad business as the Colonel had done.  And on the other hand, it made him feel uncomfortable and almost ashamed to see tears standing in the old soldier’s eyes as he passionately blamed himself for what had been suffered by “my sister’s son.”

The servants one and all adored Colonel Jervois.  They are rather acute judges of good breeding, and men and maids were at one on the fact that he was a visitor who conferred social distinction on the establishment.  They had decided that we should “dine late so long as The Gentleman” was with us, whilst my mother was thinking how to break so weighty an innovation to such valuable servants.  They served him with alacrity, and approved of his brief orders and gracious thanks.  The Colonel did unheard-of things with impunity—­threw open his bedroom shutters at night, and more than once unbarred and unbolted the front door to go outside for a late cigar.  Nothing puzzled Martha more than the nattiness with which he put all the bolts and bars back into their places, as if he had been used to the door as long as she had.