“How can you treat it so lightly?” cried poor Ellen, in her agitated indignation. “It was a mercy that the child did not catch his death; and as to Rob--! And when Mr. Ogilvie always said the boys were so improved, and that there was no bullying! It just shows how much he knows about it! To think what they have made of my poor Rob! His father will be so grieved! I should not wonder if he had a fit of the gout!” The shock was far greater to her than to one who had never kept her boys at a distance, and who understood their ways, characters, and code of honour; and besides Rob was her eldest, and she had credited him with every sterling virtue. Jessie and Johnny stood aghast. They had only meant to defend their little cousin, and had never expected either that she would be so much overcome, or that she would insist on their father knowing all, as she did with increasing anger and grief at each of their attempts at persuading her to the contrary. Caroline thought he ought to know. Her children’s father would have known long ago, but then his wrath would have been a different thing from what seemed to be apprehended from his brother; and she understood the distress of Jessie and John, though her pity for Rob was but small. Whatever she tried to say in the way of generous mediation or soothing only made it worse; and poor Ellen, far from being her Serene Highness, was, between scolding and crying, in an almost hysterical state, so that Caroline durst not leave her or the frightened Jessie, and was relieved at last to hear the Colonel coming into the house, when, thinking her presence would do more harm than good, and longing to return to her little son, she slipped away, and was joined at the door by her own John, who asked-- “What’s up, mother?” “Did you know all about this dreadful business, Jock?” “Afterwards, of course, but I was shut up in school, writing three hundred disgusting lines of Virgil, or I’d have got the brutes off some way.” “And so little Armie is the brave one of all!” “Well, so he is,” said Jock; “but I say, mother, don’t go making him cockier. You know he’s only fit to be stitched up in one of Jessie’s little red Sunday books, and he must learn to keep a civil tongue in his head, and not be an insufferable little donkey.” “You would not have had him give in and do it! Never, Jock!” “Why no, but he could have got off with a little chaff instead of coming out with his testimony like that, and so I’ve been telling him. So don’t you set him up again to think himself forty martyrs all in one, or there will be no living with him.” “If all boys were like him.” Jock made a sound of horror and disgust that made her laugh. “He’s all very well,” added he in excuse; “but to think of all being like that. The world would be only one big muff.” “But, Jock, what’s this about Bobus being paid for doing people’s exercises?” “Bobus is a cute one,” said Jock. “I thought he had more uprightness,” she sighed. “And you, Jock?”