"Lizbeth," said her father, "is a gallant creature. I think she will always laugh, and like Charles Lamb she will always find this world a pretty world." This state of mind made no appeal to Mrs. Thomson, and she changed the subject by asking about Mr. Seton's health. His face, she noticed, was lined and worn, he stooped more than he used to do, but his eyes were the same--a hopeful boy's eyes. "Oh, I'm wonderfully well. You don't grudge me an hour of Robert's last evening? I baptized the boy." "Ye did that, Mr. Seton"--the tears beginning to flow at the thought--"and little did any of us think that this is what he was to come to." "No," said Mr. Seton, "we little thought what a privilege was to be his. Robert, when I heard you had enlisted I said, 'Well done,' for I knew what it meant to you to leave your books. And I hear you wouldn't take a commission, but preferred to go with the men you had trained with." Robert blushed, but his face did not wear the "affronted" look that it generally wore when people praised him as a patriot. "Ah but, Mr. Seton," Alick broke in eagerly, "Robert's a sergeant! See his stripes! That's just about as good as an officer." Robert made a grab at his young brother to silence him; but Alick was not to be suppressed. "I shouldn't wonder," he said in a loud, boastful voice (he had never been so miserable in all his fifteen years)--"I shouldn't wonder if he got the V.C. That would be fine--eh, Robert?" "I think I see myself," said Robert. "Rubbert's a queer laddie," Mr. Thomson remarked, looking tenderly at his son. "He was objectin' to Mr. Chalmers sayin' he had a noble Cause." Robert blushed again. "There's nothing wrong with the Cause," he grumbled, "but I hate talking about it." "'Truth hath a quiet breast,'" quoted Mr. Seton. There was a silence in the little parlour that looked out on the garden. They were all thinking the same thing--would they ever sit here together again? So many had gone away! So many had not come back. Mrs. Thomson gave a choking sob and burst out: "Oh! Mr. Seton, your boy didn't come back!" "No," said Mr. Seton gently, "my boy didn't come back!" "And oh! the bonnie laddie he was! I can just see him as well; the way he used to come swinging into church with his kilt, and his fair hair, and his face so full of daylight. And I'm sure it wasna for want of prayers, for I'm sure Papa there niver missed once, morning and night, and in our own private prayers too--and you would pray just even on?" "Just even on," said Mr. Seton. "_And He never heeded us_," said Mrs. Thomson. Mr. Seton smiled at the dismayed amazement in her tone. "Oh, yes, He heeded us. He answered our prayers beyond our asking. We asked life for Alan, and he has given him length of days for ever and ever."