“And so little Armie is the brave one of all!”

“Well, so he is,” said Jock; “but I say, mother, don’t go making him cockier.  You know he’s only fit to be stitched up in one of Jessie’s little red Sunday books, and he must learn to keep a civil tongue in his head, and not be an insufferable little donkey.”

“You would not have had him give in and do it!  Never, Jock!”

“Why no, but he could have got off with a little chaff instead of coming out with his testimony like that, and so I’ve been telling him.  So don’t you set him up again to think himself forty martyrs all in one, or there will be no living with him.”

“If all boys were like him.”

Jock made a sound of horror and disgust that made her laugh.

“He’s all very well,” added he in excuse; “but to think of all being like that.  The world would be only one big muff.”

“But, Jock, what’s this about Bobus being paid for doing people’s exercises?”

“Bobus is a cute one,” said Jock.

“I thought he had more uprightness,” she sighed.  “And you, Jock?”

“I should think not!” he laughed.  “Nobody would trust me.”

“Is that the only reason?” she said, sadly, and he looked up in her face, squeezed her hand, and muttered—-

“One mayn’t like dirt without making such a row.”

“That’s like father’s boy,” she said, and he wrung her hand again.

They found Armine coiled up before the fire with a book, and Jock greeted him with—-

“Well, you little donkey, there’s such a shindy at the Croft as you never heard.”

“Mother, you know!” cried Armine, running into her outstretched arms and being covered with her kisses.  “But who told?” he asked.

“John and Jessie,” said Jock.  “They always said they would if anyone said anything against you to mother or Uncle Robert.”

“Against me?” said Armine.

“Yes,” said Jock.  “Didn’t you know it got about through some of the juniors or their sisters that it was Brownlow maximus gently chastising you for bad language, and of course Mrs. Coffinkey told Aunt Ellen.”

“Oh, but Jock,” cried Armine, turning round in consternation, “I hope Rob does not know.”

And on further pressing it was extracted that Rob, when sent home with him, had threatened him with the great black vaulted cellars of Kencroft if he divulged the truth.  When Jock left them the relief of pouring out the whole history to the mother was evidently great.

“You know, mother, I couldn’t,” he cried, as if there had been a physical impossibility.

“Why, dear child.  How did you bear their horrid cruelty?”

“I thought it could not be so bad as it was for the forty soldiers on the Lake.  Dear grandmamma read us the story out of a little red book one Sunday evening when you were gone to Church.  They froze, you know, and it was only cold and nasty for me.”