It was addressed, in the Roman hand of a boy’s copybook writing, to

          General the Earl of Ormont, I.C.B., etc.,
                                   Horse Guards,
          
                                   London.’

The earl’s eyebrows creased up over the address; they came down low on the contents.

He resumed his daily countenance.  ‘Nothing of importance,’ he said to the ladies.

Mrs. Lawrence knocked the table with her knuckles.  Aminta put out a hand, in sign of her wish.

‘Pray let me see it.’

‘After lunch will do.’

‘No, no, no!  We are women—­we are women,’ cried Mrs. Lawrence.

‘How can it concern women?’

‘As well ask how a battle-field concerns them!’

‘Yes, the shots hit us behind you,’ said Aminta; and she, too, struck the table.

He did not prolong their torture.  Weyburn received the folio sheet and passed it on.  Aminta read.  Mrs. Lawrence jumped from her chair and ran to the countess’s shoulder; her red lips formed the petitioning word to the earl for the liberty she was bent to take.

‘Peep? if you like,’ my lord said, jesting at the blank she would find, and soft to the pretty play of her mouth.

When the ladies had run to the end of it, he asked them:  ’Well; now then?’

‘But it’s capital—­the dear laddies!’ Mrs. Lawrence exclaimed.

Aminta’s eyes met Weyburn’s.

She handed him the sheet of paper; upon the transmission of which empty thing from the Horse Guards my lord commented:  ‘An orderly!’

Weyburn scanned it rapidly, for the table had been served.

The contents were these: 

                    ’HighBrent near ARTSWELL. 
                                             ’April 7th.

     ’To general the earl of Ormont
                         ’Cavalry.

’May it please your Lordship, we, the boys of Mr. Cuper’s school, are desirous to bring to the notice of the bravest officer England possesses now living, a Deed of Heroism by a little boy and girl, children of our school laundress, aged respectively eight and six, who, seeing a little fellow in the water out of depth, and sinking twice, before the third time jumped in to save him, though unable to swim themselves; the girl aged six first, we are sorry to say; but the brother, Robert Coop, followed her example, and together they made a line, and she caught hold of the drowning boy, and he held her petycoats, and so they pulled.  We have seen the place:  it is not a nice one.  They got him ashore at last.  The park-keeper here going along found them dripping, rubbing his hands, and blowing into his nostrils.  Name, T. Shellen, son of a small cobbler here, and recovered.

’May it please your Lordship, we make bold to apply, because you have been