'MY DEAR FATHER,--I think that it is wiser for me to leave home for a time and strike out a line for myself. It grieves me to oppose you, but, as I feel myself to be utterly unfitted for a commercial life, there is nothing else to be done. We used to be such {missing words} and we have neither of us been very happy since mother died. Don't imagine that I am going away because of our little breeze to-day. I have not thought of that again. Really, I have not. I shall write as soon as I have settled to the work I have chosen, and will keep you posted as to my movements. Good-bye, my dear old dad. My love to Uncle William; and you may both of you be sure that I shall try and remember your teaching and his and keep straight. I am afraid you will say that I am making a crooked beginning; but, father, in this matter I can't obey you. I can't indeed. Good-bye again. Try to remember me as your affectionate son, GEORGE.' And this was almost the last that Colonel Haughton heard of his son for many a day. CHAPTER II THE QUEEN'S SHILLING SUNDERS FRIENDS Down the South Head Road, down the long, narrow length of George Street, headed by its splendid band, swept the famous regiment, a glittering streak of scarlet and steel; and all the way from Paddington Barracks to the great wharf at the Circular Quay, where lay the waiting transport, the people cheered themselves hoarse, waving banners and scattering flowers under the marching feet. For the gallant 600th were going to New Zealand--going to the war. Everywhere was orderly bustle as the men embarked, and no one found time to heed the behaviour of two young civilians, who had managed to get on board, and who at once made a hurried descent into the darkest corner of the forehatch; nor did they emerge even when the noisy bell clanged out a warning to those who belonged to the shore to make all haste and get there. The transport, led by a proud little tug, was passing Farm Cove, the beautiful anchorage for ships of the naval squadron, which fronts the ornamental grounds of Government House, when the disciplined quiet of the frigate was disturbed by an outcry in the neighbourhood of the fo'c'sle, and Sergeant-major Horn, hurrying to ascertain the cause, was met, to his great surprise, by a couple of his men, who haled between them a pair of dishevelled youths. 'Silence, you there!' commanded the sergeant-major sternly. Then to George and Terence--for they, indeed, were the stowaways: 'What's the meaning of this? Who are you? Where do you come from? What brought you here?' His quick eye at once discerned that the young men he addressed were not of the same class as those who detained them.