“Most of us are just as well without thinking,” said Lord Eskside, with a suppressed sigh, “except about your work, my boy. You may be sure you will want all your thoughts for your work.” “That is just how you always turn me off,” said Val. “I ask you about my father, grandpa, and you tell me about my work. I will do my work,” said the boy, with a dogged air, which he sometimes put on; “but why does my father never come home?--why doesn’t he care for me? All these fellows there are with their fathers. I like you a great deal better--but _why_ doesn’t he come?” “Because he likes his own way,” said the old lord, “better than he likes you or me--better than he likes his own country or our homely life. Observe, my boy, this is nothing for you to judge, or make your remarks upon,” he added, bending his brows at Val, who was not used to be looked on frowningly. “Your father is no boy like you, but a man, and able to judge for himself. His profession takes him abroad. He will be an ambassador one of these days, I suppose, and represent his sovereign--which is more honour than often falls to the lot of a poor Scots lord.” Val did not make any reply, and the pair continued their walk along the river-side. His father a representative of his sovereign; his mother----. For the last time before he was engulfed by the practical schoolboy life which was more congenial to his years, Val felt the whirl of wonder, the strange chaos of his double life which was made up of such different elements, and lay as it were between two worlds. His panic was gone, having worn itself out, and no real interest in his unknown mother kept her image before him; but he felt the jar in him of these two existences, so strangely, widely separated. His head felt giddy, as if the world were turning round with him. But every moment the river was becoming more gay and bright, and the moving panorama before him after a while overcame his individual reflections. The “fellows” newly arrived were already crowding down to the river--little new boys standing about with their hands in their pockets looking wistfully on; but the old _habitués_ of the Thames asserted their superiority, and got afloat in swarms--some in the strange outriggers which Val had heard of, but had never seen before. Lord Eskside was as eager about the sight as if it had been he who was the new boy. “Look how light they are, Val!” he cried--“how cleverly they manage them! If those long oars get out of balance the thing upsets. Look at that small creature there no bigger than yourself----” “Bigger! he’s not up to my elbow,” cried Val, indignant. “Well, smaller than yourself: but you could not do that, you lout, to save your life.” Val’s face grew crimson. “Come back next week, grandpa,” he said, “and see if I can’t; or come along, I’ll try now; it would only be a ducking--and what do I care for a ducking? I’ll try this very day.”