thoughts, a slap came on his shoulder from behind, and a cheerful voice hailed him: ‘Why, Jack! what are you doing here at this time of day?’ Then another voice addressed the first one with that pleasant frankness which characterises brothers or dear friends, and bid him for a blockhead to remember. Whereupon the first speaker penitently cried out: ‘I beg your pardon! You know I didn’t mean to be unfeeling, Jack.’ John had scarcely the heart to turn round. He did so, half, saying, in a tone of little interest, ‘Have you fellows come back?’ The fellows were two. They were older than John. One--the nearest to him in age--was short and of spare figure, neat and careful of apparel; the other was some two years older, a person of advanced age in the estimation of his juniors, who did not think Dick’s sense was on a level with his years. He was large and fair, a full-grown man in person, with a moustache which many an older man might envy, and a careless good-humour and heartiness about him which was very attractive to many of his fellow-creatures, though his own immediate belongings were a little contemptuous of them. Both the lads were dressed with a little of that jauntiness which characterises the University. They came from a centre of boyish fashion; their coats were cut on the correctest model, and even Percy, though so much the wiser of the two, would have died, it was evident to the commonest observer, rather than wear anything which he ought not to have worn. The very canes which both of them scrupulously carried were exactly the right kind of cane. When John turned round slowly upon them, he was a little overawed as he awoke to it by the splendour of their appearance. ‘I didn’t know you were here,’ he said. ‘No, only for the day. Where are you going--to the rectory? Come along, then. That’s all right,’ said Dick. ‘We wanted to go and look you up, but didn’t like.’ Percy gave his brother a push aside. ‘I should have come fast enough; but I wanted to know first--that’s to say, we thought you might have relations or something. We’re awfully sorry, you know, Jack.’ ‘Awfully sorry,’ echoed Dick, eager to make his sympathy known. ‘There’s nobody but my mother,’ said John, with an effort. ‘We are going away to-morrow morning.’ ‘Going away?’ ‘Yes. I’m going back with my mother. There is to be a sale and the house is to be let.’ John forced himself to say all this with an appearance of stolid calm. Dick thrust his arm into John’s, and, half roughly, half tenderly, led him along. ‘Come and talk to Aunt Mary,’ he said. This was his own idea of consolation. He could not himself say anything that would be of any use to a mourner; but Aunt Mary, if anyone, could. Dick always said that he would back her against the world.