"_P.S._ Bed-time. The post-bag had gone when I had finished my letter. I just want to tell you, Auntie came down to dinner. Every one was so surprised and delighted and we had such a happy evening. Uncle played games with us after dinner, and Auntie looked on. The time went so quickly, we were sorry when Uncle said: ’Bed-time, children. To your tents: double quick march.’ So we all had to scamper away. Uncle Raymond came to dinner. He is so grave and stern, so different from Father. He went into the study whilst Uncle was playing with us." CHAPTER III.--A FORBIDDEN BOOK. Carol had always been a lonely boy. The companionship of other children was a pleasure he had never known. In the remote Devonshire village, where all the years of his young life had been spent, there were no children who could be invited to his home as friends and companions for him. First his mother’s delicate health, and then his own, had prevented visits to or from his cousins. When he was seven years old a fall from his pony caused an injury to his hip, which eventually developed into what the doctors diagnosed as tubercular disease of the hip bone. For three years his mother had been slowly dying of consumption, and the boy had been the joy and brightness of her life. She did not live long after she was told that what she was suffering from he would suffer, too, in another form. She died about six months before the war broke out in South Africa, and fulfilling a promise made some time before, a favorite cousin, then resident in America, whose girlhood had been spent with her as a sister, came to take charge of the household and the young motherless invalid. Major Willmar was ordered to the front shortly after operations commenced, but before he went he had hopes that his boy would grow well and strong. There had been such a marked change in him from the day Cousin Alicia arrived, bringing to that saddened home love and--Truth. It can, therefore, be easily understood that the first few days at the Manor were to Carol days almost of bewilderment. As soon as his cousins found that their joy in having Father back again, safe and sound, did not hurt Carol, nothing restrained their wild exuberance of spirits. They could not understand the gentle, reserved boy, who spoke with so much love and tenderness of his father, yet had no tears or sadness because he would return no more. "Perhaps he doesn’t quite understand," said Gwendolin.