"I’ve got the Ambulance Badge!—look at the Geneva Cross!—and the Signaller’s Badge—this is it—with the crossed flags—and the Interpreter’s Badge—the one with the two hands holding. But this is the very latest. Our Scoutmaster gave it to me after parade to-day. It’s the Airman’s Badge—" He caught his breath, the secret was coming in a moment.... He went on: "To get it you must have made a model aëroplane. Not a flying-stick, any kid of nine can make one—but a model that will really fly. That’s my special reason for coming. Mother was out—and—and next to her I wanted to tell you!" "And next after me?" The boy considered a moment before he looked up to answer: "Cousin Pat, because she can keep a secret so tightly." Saxham patted the sturdy square shoulders. "You are fond of Cousin Patrine, aren’t you?" "Rather!" "Just tell me why?" "Because"—the young brows were puckered—"because she’s so big and so—beautiful. And she’d just die for you and Mother.... She comes in my prayers next after you two." "And—the Chief Scout?" "Father, wouldn’t it be—a bit cheeky to go and pray for a man like that?" A spark of laughter wakened in Saxham’s sombre eyes. "Not quite respectful, you think? Is that it? Why so, when you’re taught to pray for the Holy Father, Mother Church, and the King and Queen?" The boy’s puckered brows smoothed. The question was settled. "Of course. I forgot. Then the Chief Scout must come in after Cousin Patrine. Because a gentleman must always give place to a lady. That’s what Mother says." "Suppose Cousin Patrine never came to see you any more, what would you do then?" Bawne straightened the sturdy body and proclaimed: "I would go and find her and bring her back!" "Suppose she did not want to come?" Bawne said instantly: "I would tell her Mother was wanting her. For Mother would be, you know. And Cousin Pat wouldn’t keep her waiting. Not much, sir, she wouldn’t!" "She cares so?" "Doesn’t she! Why, have you forgotten when I was a little shaver and Mother was so ill?" Saxham, with a certain tightening of the muscles of the throat, recalled the wan, red-eyed spectre that had haunted the landing outside the guarded bedroom where Lynette lay, white and strengthless, while her husband fought for her with Death. "Well, well. Go on loving Patrine and praying for her! Now tell me of your model." The boy said, controlling his exultation: