“Why, you know, Derwie, we’d all like it if we could get it,” he said, faltering slightly; but I knew in a moment, by the sudden movement of his head and glance of his eye, that he really did believe it possible, and that this was the darling ambition of Bertie’s heart. “But Bevan told me!” cried Derwie--“he told me about those gates, you know, that you and the rest blew up. Mamma, listen! There were six of them, forlorn-hope men, Bevan says”---- “Ah, Derwie, hush!--four of them sleep yonder, the brave fellows!--four privates, who could not hope for distinction like me,” cried Bertie, with that same profound awe and compunction, contrasting his own deliverance with the calamity of others, which had once stricken me. “A private can have the Victoria Cross as well as a general,” cried Derwie, clapping his hands; “and more likely, Bevan says--for a general commands and doesn’t fight.” “That is true--God save the Queen!” cried Bertie. “If Corporal Inglis gets it, Derwie--and he ought--we’ll illuminate.” “If you get it,” said Derwie, “you deserve it all the same. Mamma, they blew up the gates with gunpowder; they went close--so close that”---- “Boh!” cried Bertie; “mamma read all about it in the papers. It was nothing particular--it only had to be done, that’s all. Now, Derwie, don’t you know when a thing has to be done somebody must do it?” “Yes, I know,” said Derwie, “perfectly well. When mamma says _must_ I always go directly--don’t I, mamma?--and if I were as big as you I wouldn’t mind being killed either. When you were killed, Bertie--that time you know when everybody thought so--oh, what a crying there was!” “Was there?” asked Bertie, with a softened tone, putting his arm round the eager child. But a new point of interest in those human studies which were so dear to him had suddenly seized upon Derwie’s imagination. He turned abruptly to me. “Mamma, didn’t Alice come once and cry? I saw her go away with such red eyes; and she never came again, and never looked like her own self when she did come,” said my boy, with a courageous disregard of grammar. “What is that for? Wasn’t she glad when Bertie came alive again, and it was only poor Captain Hughes?” “Hush, Derwie, my boy--you don’t understand these things. I was deeply grieved for that poor Captain Hughes, Bertie--I almost felt as if, in our great anxiety for you, his fall was our fault.”