'It was my fault, Colonel,' interposed George at once, adding naïvely, 'I was afraid that if you knew you would prevent us.' Under pretence of giving his moustache a twist, Colonel Cranstoun hid a smile behind his hand. 'Follow me to my cabin, George,' he said, and, curtly returning the dejected Horn's salute, walked off, followed by George, who felt decidedly cheap. Terence, left behind, looked after his friend with an air of comical resignation, and inquired of the sergeant-major in a dolorous whine: 'Aw, sergeant dear, can I offer you a guinea to take back the shilling I had of you just now?' 'Oh, dry up!' snapped the disgusted Horn. 'Why couldn't you say you knew the colonel? I'll get my head blown off. But how was I to know? _You're_ booked anyhow,' he wound up, with a snarl. 'Faith, 'tis cooked as well as booked I am,' sighed Terence. 'He'll never let George enlist, and then what will I do at all, at all?' 'Take him out of this!' vociferated Horn. 'No; let him stay. The colonel may want him when he's done with that other lump of mischief.' He stalked off in high dudgeon. Meantime Colonel Cranstoun had shut himself in his cabin with George. 'Tell me the meaning of all this, my boy,' he said kindly. 'Is it a case of bolt?' George nodded gloomily; then burst out with impetuous pleading: 'Don't ask me to go back, Colonel Cranstoun, for I can't and I won't.' 'Let me hear your story,' said the colonel; and as briefly as possible George gave him the details of his difference with his father. When he had finished, Colonel Cranstoun laid a hand upon his shoulder. 'It must be clear to you, George, that I cannot countenance this escapade. What should I say to my old friend--if we ever meet again--were I to allow his son to do a foolish thing, and put forth no hand to save him from his folly?' One glance at the fine, inflexible face told George that pleading would be thrown away; so he said as quietly as he could: 'Very good, sir. I would rather serve under you than under any one; but since you won't have me, I shall enlist as soon as we reach New Zealand.' 'You are not going there in this ship,' the colonel said curtly. This was a facer, and George caught his breath. He had reckoned without his host. He had a sickening sense of what was coming. 'Now, George, you know your duty as well as I do,' went on the colonel. 'Make your father understand that you can't adopt the--er--profession he has in view for you--I don't blame you for that; quite the contrary--but don't try to persuade yourself that you are doing anything heroic in running away from home like a schoolboy.' 'Well, sir,' answered George in his quietest manner, 'if I can't go in this ship, I will in another.'