One day Miss Esperance drove both boys to Leith, and left them to play on the beach while she went to see an old friend. In a minute Edmund had off his shoes and socks, and in spite of the jagged pebbles, that hurt his unaccustomed feet so cruelly, went down to the water’s edge and in up to his knees, then turning to the more timid Montagu, who still stood dubiously upon the brink, cried joyously, "_This_ is what I’ve always been wanting: there’s _plenty_ of room out there." The same evening he climbed on to Mr. Wycherly’s knee demanding, "How can I get to be a sailor like my daddie was?" "You go into the Navy." "How do I go? What way? Where’s the Navy? Is it a town?" No, it’s an institution, a service——" "Like the poorhouse?" Edmund interrupted, in less enthusiastic tones. "Oh, dear, no." "Tell me all about it," the little boy commanded, whereupon Mr. Wycherly obediently and at considerable length explained the constitution of His Majesty’s Navy, and Edmund never once interrupted. When Mr. Wycherly had finished, the little boy was silent for a minute, then asked earnestly, "How soon can I go?" "Let me see, you’re nearly eight now; it might be managed in about three years. You will need to read well, and write well, and be able to do many kinds of sums, and be very obedient." "I could do all that," Edmund said decidedly, and in the end, to the surprise of every one concerned, he did. At first it grieved Mr. Wycherly that any one should teach either of the little boys except himself. He grudged Edmund to the minister, even while he knew that the minister was far more fitted to teach him than he was himself. His only consolation was that, as Edmund disliked lessons so much, there would have been some danger of his extending his dislike to the giver of them, and that Mr. Wycherly could not have borne. It happened that soon after Edmund first went for lessons to the Manse whooping-cough broke out among the village children. It was a bad kind, and Miss Esperance was very anxious that neither Montagu nor Edmund should take it. Thus it came about that one Sunday, one particularly fine Sunday at the beginning of June, she decided that she would not take them to church with her for fear of infection. The doctor himself had suggested this only the day before, and after a sleepless night, in which she had prayed for guidance, Miss Esperance decided that the doctor was probably right and that she should run no risks for them, whatever she might do for herself. Mr. Wycherly offered to look after them both during her absence, and it was characteristic of Miss Esperance that, although she had her misgivings, she made no suggestions as to how their time should be spent in her absence. That would have been to reflect upon Mr. Wycherly. The little boys will always remember that Sunday, not only because they did not go to church, and did play in a field near the Manse, but because of something that happened.