“Yes,” said John, with a low, gruff sound in his voice, “but is not that like being killed in battle?”

“The world doesn’t think it so, my boy,” said the soldier.  “Well! what is it you propose to do?”

“I don’t suppose it will make much difference yet,” said John, “except that at Oxford I should go in more for physical science.”

“You don’t want to give up the university?”

“Oh, no!  Dr. Medlicott said a degree there is a great help, besides that, all the general study one can get is the more advantage, lifting one above the mere practitioner.”

“That is well,” said the Colonel.  “If you are to go to the university, there is no need to dwell further on the matter at present.  You will have had time to see more of the world, and you will know whether this wish only comes from enthusiasm for a pleasant young man who has been kind to you, or if it be your real deliberate choice, and if so, your mother will have had time to reconcile herself to the notion.  At any rate we will say no more about it for the present.  Though I must say, Johnny,” he added, as he turned his horse’s head between the ribbon borders of the approach, “you have thought and spoken like a sensible lad, and so like my dear brother, that I could not deny you.”

If Johnny could hardly believe in the unwonted commendation which made his heart throb, and sent a flood of colour into his cheeks.  Colonel Brownlow was equally amazed at the boy’s attainment of a manly and earnest thought and purpose, so utterly unlike anything he had hitherto seen in the stolid Rob, or the easy-going Allen, or even in Bobus, who—-whatever there might be in him—-never thought it worth while to show it to his uncle.

However, discussion was cut short by a little flying figure which came rushing across the garden, and Babie with streaming hair clung to her cousin, gasping—-

“Oh!  Johnny, Johnny, tell me about Armie and Jock.”

“They are ever so much better, Babie,” said Johnny, lifting the slim little thing up in his arms, as he had lifted his own five-year-old brother; “I’ve got a thick parcel of acrostics for you, Armie makes them in bed, and Lord Fordham writes them out.”

“Will you come to the rosary, Uncle Robert?” said Babie, recovering her manners, as Johnny set her down.  “It is the coolest place, and they are sitting there.”

“Why, Babie, what a sprite you look,” said Johnny.  “You look as if you were just off the sick-list too!”

“I’m all right,” said Babie, shaking her hair at him, and bounding on before with the tidings of their coming, while her uncle observed in a low voice—-

“Poor little thing!  I believe she has been a good deal knocked up between the heat and the anxiety; there was no making her eat or sleep.  Ah!  Miss Elfie, are you acting queen of roses?” as Babie returned together with Elvira, who with a rich dark red rose over one ear, and a large bouquet at her bosom, justified the epithet at which she bridled, and half curtsied in her graceful stately archness, as she gave her hand in greeting, and exclaimed—-