“You may hold my hand, Rolf, dear, if you like; it is only my arms that are hurt; there, we are comfortable now. Tell me, have you had a very miserable day?” “Oh, so miserable!” and there were tears in Rolf’s voice. “Mother has been so angry; she shut me up in this room though it was such a fine day, and would not let anyone speak to me, and I could not get her to answer although I said over and over again that I was sorry and would not have hurt Reggie for the world, he is such a dear little fellow, you know. Oh! I am so fond of him. But mother said no, she would not listen; I had disobeyed her, and nearly killed Reggie, and that Aunt Violet would never speak to me again.” “Oh, yes she will, Rolf.” “But if Reggie had been really burnt, you know,” and here Rolf shivered; his hand was quite cold though his face was burning. He was a nervous, excitable child, and no doubt this long summer’s day had been a martyrdom to him. He had conjured up all sorts of horrible fancies to haunt his dreams. Yes, he had been sufficiently punished, I was sure of that. “Tell me how it happened, dear,” I said, quietly. “I was firing my cannon to please Joyce. I know mother told me never to take it in the nursery, and that she did not like my lighting it unless Judson had the matchbox, but I forgot.” “Did you really forget, Rolf?” “Yes, really I did; I never do remember things, you know. I was only thinking how Joyce would scream when the cannon popped. I told them to get out of the way, only Reggie, poor little fellow, ran against me and knocked the match out of my hand—it was alight, you know—and then Joyce did scream, and,” but here Rolf buried his head in the pillow; the recollection was evidently too painful. “You will all hate me,” he sobbed, “because I nearly killed Reggie—you and Aunt Violet, and I do love Aunt Violet, because she is so pretty.” “No one will hate you, my poor child; we are only sorry that the son of a brave soldier like Colonel Markham should be such a coward as to disobey his mother. Your mother told you to fetch Hannah. Did you forget that too, Rolf?” “No,” in a conscience-stricken voice, “I did not forget, Fenny, but I thought it would be fun to take care of the children.” “But it was disobedience, Rolf, just as much as your coming into the nursery at that time you took advantage of my absence first, and then of your mother’s. I think a brave soldier like your father would call that cowardly. Now, I want you to listen to a story about the bravest boy of whom I ever heard.” And as I stroked his rough head I told him the story of Casabianca and the burning ship. (_To be continued._) [Illustration] [Illustration: New Music] NOVELLO, EWER AND CO.