"But Ger isn't a bit like me. He is all Grantly. In character, I sometimes think he resembles your mother, he is so fond of society; in appearance he's very like the others, except the Kitten. Now, if the Kitten's sight had been astigmatic . . ." "We must take care that she doesn't suffer from neglect like poor little Ger," Mrs Ffolliot interrupted rather bitterly. "I shall write at once to their house-master to have the twins' eyes tested. I'll run no more risks. We know Grantly's all right because he passed his medical so easily. Poor, poor little Ger." "It certainly is most unfortunate," said Mr Ffolliot. He was really concerned about Ger, but mingled with his concern was the feeling that the little boy had taken something of a liberty in developing that particular form of eye trouble. It seemed an unfilial reflection upon himself. Moreover, there was something in the General's letter plainly stating the bare facts that he did not exactly like. It was, he considered, "rather brusque." He started for the South, of France four days earlier than he had originally intended. Ger was taken to the great oculist in London, who confirmed the "Myjor's" diagnosis of his case, and he was forthwith put into large round spectacles. When he got them, his appearance brought the tears to his grandmother's eyes--tears she rigidly repressed, for Ger was so enormously proud of them. The first afternoon he wore them he went with his grandfather to see Grantly playing in a football match at the Shop, and among those watching on the field he espied his friend "the Ram-Corps Angel." Ger knew him at once, although he wore no white garment, not even khaki, just a plain tweed suit like his grandfather's. While the General was deep in conversation with the "Commy," Ger slipped away and sought his friend. "Hullo," said the 'Myjor,' "so you've got 'em on." "Yes, sir," said Ger, saluting solemnly, "and I'm very much obliged. It's lovely to see things so nice and clear. Please may I ask you something?" The Major stepped back out of the crowd and Ger slipped a small hand confidingly into his. Ger had not been to school yet, so there were excuses for him. "Do you think," he asked earnestly, "that if I'm very industr'us and don't turn out quite so stupid as they expected, that by-and-by I might get into the Ram Corps?" Major Murray looked down very kindly at the anxious upturned face with the large round spectacles. "But I thought the Shop was the goal of your ambition?" "So it was, sir, at first. Then I gave it up because it seemed so difficult, and I talked it over with Willets, and he said _he'd_ never had a great deal of book-learnin'--though he writes a beautiful hand, far better than father--and then I thought I'd be a gamekeeper." "And what did Willets think?" "Well, he didn't seem to be very sure--and now I come to think of it, I'm not very fond of killing things . . . so if there was just a chance . . ."