It is unfortunate that Hamilton's sister--that innocent purveyor of home news--had no glimpse of the correspondence, and that other recipients of his confidence are not in touch with the writer of these chronicles. Whatever he wrote, with what fervour he described his wanderings in the forest no one knows, but certainly he wrote to some purpose. "What the dickens are all these parcels that have come for you for?" demanded his superior officer, eyeing with disfavour a mountain of brown paper packages be-sealed, be-stringed, and be-stamped. Bones, smoking his pipe, turned them over. "I don't know for certain," he said, carefully; "but I shouldn't be surprised if they aren't clothes, dear old officer." "Clothes?" "For Henry," explained Bones, and cutting the string of one and tearing away its covering revealed a little mountain of snowy garments. Bones turned them over one by one. "For Henry," he repeated; "could you tell me, sir, what these things are for?" He held up a garment white and small and frilly. "No, sir, I can't," said Hamilton stiffly, "unless like the ass that you are you have forgotten to mention to your friends that Henry is a gentleman child." Bones looked up at the blue sky and scratched his chin. "I may have called him 'her,'" he confessed. There were, to be exact, sixteen parcels and each contained at least one such garment, and in addition a very warm shawl, "which," said Hamilton, "will be immensely useful when it snows." With the aid of his orderly, Bones sorted out the wardrobe and the playthings (including many volumes of the Oh-look-at-the-rat-on-the-mat-where-is-the-cat? variety), and these he carried to his hut with such dignity as he could summon. That evening, Hamilton paid his subordinate a visit. Henry, pleasingly arrayed in a pair of the misdirected garments with a large bonnet on his head, and seated on the floor of the quarters contentedly chewing Bones' watch, whilst Bones, accompanying himself with his banjo, was singing a song which was chiefly remarkable for the fact that he was ignorant of the tune and somewhat hazy concerning the words. "Did you ever take a tum-ty up the Nile, Did you ever dumpty dupty in a camp, Or dumpty dumpty on m--m---- Or play it in a dumpty dumpty swamp." He rose, and saluted his senior, as Hamilton came in. "Exactly what is going to happen when Sanders comes back?" asked Hamilton, and the face of Bones fell. "Happen, sir? I don't take you, sir--what _could_ happen--to whom, sir?" "To Henry," said Hamilton. Henry looked up at that moment with a seraphic smile. "Isn't he wonderful, sir?" asked Bones in hushed ecstasy; "you won't believe what I'm going to tell you, sir--you're such a jolly old sceptic, sir--but Henry knows me--positively recognizes me! And when you remember that he's only four months old--why, it's unbelievable." "But what will you do when Sanders comes--really, Bones, I don't know whether I ought to allow this as it is."