“Spring of 1805.” “And you were then—how old?” “Yes, I know all that: but boys have eyes, as well as girls. And I tell you, Polly, I _know_ Denham. That year and a half, before he went to Valenciennes, he and I were always together. Lessons and playtime, we were hardly ever apart. And I got to know him, as—well, as nobody else does. No, not you!” She rested her chin on one hand, the soft eyes questioning Roy. “Go on,” she whispered. “I know Den, and because I know him, I can tell you that he has not altered, and that he won’t alter. It wouldn’t be like him; it isn’t in him; he is not that sort. It doesn’t make a grain of difference whether he talked or didn’t talk of you that day. He was too ill—and Den doesn’t ever talk much of the things he cares most about. You ought to know what he feels about Sir John Moore, for instance; and yet how few would ever guess it! Except when he is speaking quietly alone with you, or with Jack or me, does he ever say a great deal about Moore? It isn’t his way! And has he ever changed in that direction? No, nor ever will. If he didn’t see Sir John for twenty years, it would make never a grain of difference.” “He has a warm advocate in you.” “Because I know what he is—because he is the best friend I ever had or ever could have. He never did talk much about you, Polly, that year and a half that we were always together. And I was only a boy, but all the same I understood. If anybody ever spoke your name, or anything to do with you came up—didn’t I see his look? Didn’t I know it? Just as I know the look in his face when he hears anything of Sir John Moore.” Polly brushed her hand over wet eyes. “Sometimes I used to know that he was thinking of you all day long. How did I know? I can’t tell. How does anybody know? It was just as if ‘Polly’ was writ large upon his face. I never could tell what made him so—only for hours he seemed to be away from us all; and ’twas little good for me to talk, for he heard scarce anything I might say.” Roy’s coat-sleeve received a little squeeze. “But—so long ago!” “What does that matter? I’ve told you enough, and you ought to be able to feel sure of him. I’m not making up. Den is one of the truest and best fellows that ever lived; and when he comes home, you’ll see—you will see for yourself.” She bent towards him. “Thank you, Roy! At the least, I can promise one thing—that I will wait to see!” (_To be continued._) HOUSEHOLD HINTS. TO place a piece of oil-cloth or American baize over the whole or part of the kitchen table is a very tidy plan and saves constant scrubbing of the table. POWDERED rotten stone moistened with a little paraffin, cleans brass-work beautifully, after it has been washed with soap and water, and at the end rubbed with a clean leather. BREAD-PANS and cheese-pans should be carefully wiped out every other day, and any pieces of broken bread not left in the pan, but put on a dish or plate till it is decided what shall be done with them.