How merry they all were! What nonsense they talked, as they sat there watching some pigeons circling among the arches! The little garden was still and pleasant. Zack was stretched out beside them, with Booty curled up near him. Audrey was the first to call attention to the lateness of the hour. 'We must go home now, Michael,' she said, in a tone of regret, which was loudly echoed by Mollie and Kester. Mollie closed the green gate after them; then she rushed back to Kester. 'Do you like him--Captain Burnett, I mean?' she asked eagerly. 'I was so afraid of him at first; his eyes seem to look one through and through, even when he says nothing. But he is kind--very kind.' 'Is that all you have found out about him?' returned her brother contemptuously. 'That is so like a girl! Who cares about his eyes? Do you know what he is? He is a hero--he has the Victoria Cross. He has saved a lot of lives. Come here, and I will tell you all about it; it will make your hair stand on end more than it does now.' But the story made Mollie cry, and from that hour she and Kester elected Captain Burnett to the position of their favourite hero. 'We must tell Cyril all about him when he comes home,' observed Mollie, drying her eyes. 'You are right, Kester. Captain Burnett is quite the best, and the nicest, and the bravest man I have ever seen.' 'Hear, hear!' interposed Cyril mischievously, thrusting his dark face out of the dining-room window. He had heard the whole story with a great deal of interest. And then, as Mollie darted towards him with a little shriek of assumed anger, he laughed, and sauntered out into the garden. 'Let us do our Greek out here, old fellow,' he said, throwing himself down on the grass, while Zack jumped on him. 'Have you got some tea for me, Mollie, or have you forgotten the teapot in your hero-worship? How late mother is!' He hesitated and looked at Kester. 'She would like me to meet her; it is such a long, lonely walk. But no'--as a cloud stole over Kester's face--'perhaps she will take the omnibus. Open your books and let me see your day's work;' and Cyril quietly repressed a yawn as he took a cup of cold tea from Mollie's hand. He was tired. A walk through the dewy lanes would refresh him. He was in a restless mood; he wanted to be alone, to stretch himself and to think--perhaps to indulge in some youthful dream. But he was used to combating these moods; he would rather bear anything than disappoint Kester. And then he drank off his tea without a murmur, and the next moment the two brothers were hard at work. CHAPTER VIII 'I HOPE BETTER THINGS OF AUDREY' 'Your manners are always under examination, and by committees little suspected--a police in citizen's clothes--who are awarding or denying you very high prizes when you least think of it.'--EMERSON.