“I am not her father, sir, but at present she belongs to me,” Bootles said, smiling. “I’m afraid—” “Not at all, but perhaps she had better go. What a charming child!” This last was perhaps because Miss Mignon, finding her time had come—and she never made a fuss on such occasions—put two soft arms round his neck, and gave him such a genuine hug of friendship that the old man’s heart was quite taken by storm. So Miss Mignon was carried off, looking back to the last over Bootles’s shoulder, and waving her adieu to the handsome old man, who had such a fascinating array of clasps and medals. “I didn’t quite understand—what relation is the child to him?” he asked of the colonel. “None whatever. Ferrers found her late one night in his bed, with her wardrobe, and a letter from the mother, written as if Ferrers was the father. He, however, gave me his word of honor that he knew nothing about it, and some of us think the whole affair was simply a plant, as he is known to be a very kind-hearted fellow. Others, however, Ferrers among them, think that note and child were intended for one of the others. Nobody, however, would own to it, and Ferrers has kept the child ever since—I don’t suppose he would part with her now for anything. I wanted him to send her to the workhouse, but ’tis a jolly bright little soul, and I am glad he did not.” “Then he is not married?” “Oh dear no. He pays a woman fifty pounds a year to look after her, and all her meals go from the mess. In fact, he is bringing her up as if she were his own; and the child adores him—simply adores him.” “I respect that man,” said the general, warmly. “It is an awful thing for a child to be reared in a workhouse—awful.” “Yes; Bootles feels very strongly on the subject,” replied the colonel, absently. By the time Bootles returned, the officers had risen from the table, and he met the guests and the seniors just entering the anteroom. “I’ll shake hands with you, Captain Ferrers, if you please,” said the general, cordially. “I agree with you that it is an awful thing for a child to be brought up in a workhouse. It is a subject upon which I feel very strongly—very strongly. A child reared as a pauper does not start the world with a fair chance. I have met so often, in the course of my military experience, with recruits bred in the Unions—I never knew one do well. No; pauperism is ground into them, and they are never able to shake it off.” “Well, sir, that is my opinion,” said Bootles, modestly. “I hope, though, you won’t think my little maid is often so obtrusive as to-day. She is really always very good.” “A charming little child,” replied the general, as if he meant it too, and then he shook hands with Bootles again. CHAPTER V.