The boys looked down, conscience-stricken and abashed, but Queenie either did not or would not understand her uncle’s meaning. “What king?” she asked, impatiently. “We haven’t got a king, we have a queen; and if you’re talking about foreigners, of course we all know they’re all cowards!” And Queenie waved her hand, as if dismissing all such poltroons from the question in hand, with a fine insular prejudice that would have made Uncle Fred laugh at any other time; but just now his face was very grave and earnest. “The King these brave men served, Queenie, is the great King I trust we are all bound to obey—every one of us, whether we be men or women, or little children only just starting in life with the little battles of childhood to fight. There, my boys, I know you understand me. I will not preach to you to-day; I will only say how pleased I shall be to see you all more afraid of breaking the wise laws that our King has laid down for His soldiers.” Queenie did not approve a line of argument which she felt put her at a disadvantage. She was silent, more because she stood a little in awe of Uncle Fred than because she was convinced by what he said. She was not prepared to admit that fear was ever anything but cowardly, and was half vexed when Phil looked up and said, lightly,— “I know what you mean, Uncle Fred, only you know it’s awfully hard for a fellow to think of all that, and to be afraid when he ought. It’s much easier to be like Queenie,—like all of us, in fact,—and not to be afraid of anything.” Phil was always a favorite with everybody. He was so merry and bright and outspoken, that it was impossible not to like him, and Uncle Fred smiled at the boy as he answered his remark. “The easiest way is not always the best, Phil.” “Why, no, to be sure, worse luck! it’s generally the worst!” “You wouldn’t like all your fighting to be quite plain sailing, would you, Phil? There would not be much glory in it if it were.” Phil looked grave for a moment, and then answered, brightly,— “To be sure not. No, I’d like some good tough battles, only I’m such a fellow for forgetting—I might get into the wrong lot before ever I knew what I was about, as I did just now.” “You must try to learn thoughtfulness as you grow older,” said Uncle Fred, kindly; “that will be one of your battles.” “All right,” cried Phil; “I’ll try to think of it like that. Are you going to punish us, Uncle Fred, for bullying Bertie? because if you are, I wish you’d set about it sharp. I hate having a thing hanging over one’s head.” Uncle Fred could not help laughing. “Well, as I’m not your father, but only an uncle, I don’t know that I have any right to punish you, and, besides Bertie almost made me promise not to.