"I don't know what has come to the boy," said the squire surlily. But now Walter, who had not uttered a word hitherto, broke in suddenly, "Father, you mustn't be hard upon Dick. It's a misfortune, after all. There isn't a better rider anywhere; only accidents will happen sometimes, as you know they did the other night. Forester bolted when the little girl's red cloak blew off and flapped right on to his eyes. Dick was not expecting it, and tried to keep the horses in; but Forester sprang right through a hedge and staked himself before Dick could pull him in. It's a mercy, I think, that Dick hadn't his neck broke." He said these last words slowly and reluctantly, for his eye had rested on his aunt's hands, which were being laid quietly one across the other on the table in front of her. "Red cloak!" exclaimed the squire; "why, Dick told me it was a boy's hat that blew off and flapped against Forester's eyes." "Ah! well, father, it may have been a hat. I thought he said a cloak; but it comes pretty much to the same thing." There was an unsteadiness about the boy's voice as he said these last words which every one noticed except his father. The subject, however, was now dropped, and was not again alluded to during the evening. Next morning after breakfast Walter knocked at his aunt's door. When he had entered and taken the offered chair by her side, he sat for a minute or so with eyes cast down, and silent. "Well, Walter," she said after a while. "_Ill_, auntie," he replied, in a voice between a laugh and a sigh. "What is it, dear Walter?" "Only those two hands of yours, dear auntie." "Was there not a cause, Walter?" No reply. "Shall I tell you one of the stories you asked me to tell about moral courage?" "Do, auntie dear," he said in a low tearful voice.