"If you please, sir, I took the young gentleman into my room and ordered
a nice breakfast for him, for I could see he was half famished--a growing
boy like him, and so tall! Presently it came along. It was a good
breakfast, too! The very smell of it made even me hungry. There were
eggs and frizzled ham, and grilled kidneys, and coffee, and buttered
toast, and bloater-paste--"

"That will do as to the menu," said mother. "Go on!" "When it was all ready, and the maid had gone, I put a chair to the table
and said, 'Now, sir, your breakfast is ready!' He stood up and said,
'Thank you, madam; you are very kind!' and he bowed to me quite nicely,
just as if I was a lady, ma'am!" "Go on," said mother. "Then, sir, he held out his hand and said, 'Good-bye, and thank you,' and
he took up his cap. "'But aren't you going to have any breakfast, sir?' I says. "'No, thank you, madam,' he said; 'I couldn't eat here . . . in this
house, I mean!' Well, ma'am, he looked so lonely that I felt my heart
melting, and I ventured to ask him if there was any mortal thing I could
do for him. 'Do tell me, dear,' I ventured to say. 'I am an old woman,
and you, sir, are only a boy, though it's a fine man you will be--like
your dear, splendid father, which I remember so well, and gentle like
your poor dear mother.' "'You're a dear!' he says; and with that I took up his hand and kissed
it, for I remember his poor dear mother so well, that was dead only a
year. Well, with that he turned his head away, and when I took him by
the shoulders and turned him round--he is only a young boy, ma'am, for
all he is so big--I saw that the tears were rolling down his cheeks. With that I laid his head on my breast--I've had children of my own,
ma'am, as you know, though they're all gone. He came willing enough, and
sobbed for a little bit. Then he straightened himself up, and I stood
respectfully beside him. "'Tell Mr. Melton,' he said, 'that I shall not trouble him about the
trustee business.' "'But won't you tell him yourself, sir, when you see him?' I says. "'I shall not see him again,' he says; 'I am going back now!' "Well, ma'am, I knew he'd had no breakfast, though he was hungry, and
that he would walk as he come, so I ventured to say: 'If you won't take
it a liberty, sir, may I do anything to make your going easier? Have you
sufficient money, sir? If not, may I give, or lend, you some? I shall
be very proud if you will allow me to.' "'Yes,' he says quite hearty. 'If you will, you might lend me a
shilling, as I have no money. I shall not forget it.' He said, as he
took the coin: 'I shall return the amount, though I never can the
kindness. I shall keep the coin.' He took the shilling, sir--he
wouldn't take any more--and then he said good-bye. At the door he turned
and walked back to me, and put his arms round me like a real boy does,
and gave me a hug, and says he:

"'Thank you a thousand times, Mrs. Martindale, for your goodness to me,
for your sympathy, and for the way you have spoken of my father and
mother. You have seen me cry, Mrs. Martindale,' he said; 'I don't often
cry: the last time was when I came back to the lonely house after my poor
dear was laid to rest. But you nor any other shall ever see a tear of
mine again.' And with that he straightened out his big back and held up
his fine proud head, and walked out. I saw him from the window striding
down the avenue. My! but he is a proud boy, sir--an honour to your
family, sir, say I respectfully. And there, the proud child has gone
away hungry, and he won't, I know, ever use that shilling to buy food!" Father was not going to have that, you know, so he said to her:

"He does not belong to my family, I would have you to know. True, he is
allied to us through the female side; but we do not count him or his in
my family." He turned away and began to read a book. It was a decided
snub to her. But mother had a word to say before Mrs. Martindale was done with. Mother has a pride of her own, and doesn't brook insolence from
inferiors; and the housekeeper's conduct seemed to be rather presuming. Mother, of course, isn't quite our class, though her folk are quite
worthy and enormously rich. She is one of the Dalmallingtons, the salt
people, one of whom got a peerage when the Conservatives went out. She
said to the housekeeper:

"I think, Mrs. Martindale, that I shall not require your services after
this day month! And as I don't keep servants in my employment when I
dismiss them, here is your month's wages due on the 25th of this month,
and another month in lieu of notice. Sign this receipt." She was
writing a receipt as she spoke. The other signed it without a word, and
handed it to her. She seemed quite flabbergasted. Mother got up and
sailed--that is the way that mother moves when she is in a wax--out of
the room. Lest I should forget it, let me say here that the dismissed housekeeper
was engaged the very next day by the Countess of Salop. I may say in
explanation that the Earl of Salop, K.G., who is Lord-Lieutenant of the
County, is jealous of father's position and his growing influence. Father is going to contest the next election on the Conservative side,
and is sure to be made a Baronet before long. _Letter from Major-General Sir Colin Alexander MacKelpie_, _V.C._,
_K.C.B._, _of Croom_, _Ross_, _N.B._, _to Rupert Sent Leger_, _Esq._, 14,
_Newland Park_, _Dulwich_, _London_, _S.E._

                                                           _July_ 4, 1892. MY DEAR GODSON,

    I am truly sorry I am unable to agree with your request that I should
    acquiesce in your desire to transfer to Miss Janet MacKelpie the
    property bequeathed to you by your mother, of which property I am a
    trustee. Let me say at once that, had it been possible to me to do
    so, I should have held it a privilege to further such a wish--not
    because the beneficiare whom you would create is a near kinswoman of
    my own. That, in truth, is my real difficulty. I have undertaken a
    trust made by an honourable lady on behalf of her only son--son of a
    man of stainless honour, and a dear friend of my own, and whose son
    has a rich heritage of honour from both parents, and who will, I am
    sure, like to look back on his whole life as worthy of his parents,
    and of those whom his parents trusted. You will see, I am sure, that
    whatsoever I might grant regarding anyone else, my hands are tied in
    this matter. And now let me say, my dear boy, that your letter has given me the
    most intense pleasure. It is an unspeakable delight to me to find in
    the son of your father--a man whom I loved, and a boy whom I
    love--the same generosity of spirit which endeared your father to all
    his comrades, old as well as young. Come what may, I shall always be
    proud of you; and if the sword of an old soldier--it is all I
    have--can ever serve you in any way, it and its master's life are,
    and shall be, whilst life remains to him, yours.