The village-doctor was sent for at once; and when, on the next morning, Alan anxiously, tremblingly, asked him the candid truth, it was with an open letter in his hand, with which his fingers nervously played. It was marked "On Her Majesty's Service." He must hold himself in readiness to sail within a fortnight. And the doctor's answer was a fearful crowning to this unexpected tidings. "She may linger on for a month," he said, "six weeks at most. You will have to bid her good-bye for ever when you go. No skill can make her live till you come home." Alan never uttered a word, but his face was very pale, and a great shudder passed over his frame. "It is very, very sad for you," said the little doctor, "I pity you from my heart." And then he jolted away down the lane in his shaky trap, drawn by his broken-winded pony. And Alan turned into the farm, and was soon by his wife's side. So the fortnight passed, and the good-bye was said; and this is why that good-bye was so unutterably sad; and this is all that Harry could not understand. CHAPTER III. SAD INFORMATION. Mother and son--Returning fortitude--Self-devoted. It was drawing close upon the half-yearly examination at the Grammar School, and Harry was beginning to grow very frightened and nervous, for a new boy had been put into his class since the last examination, and he feared the newcomer would supplant him, and get to the head. So, as soon as the sad good-bye, told of in the first chapter of this little tale, was said, and Harry had tried in vain to comfort his mother, he got his books and set to work. And the clock ticked, and Harry pored over his delectus; and in the corner Mrs Campbell sat and wept. Presently she called Harry to her. "Harry, dear, I am better now; I won't cry any more. Come and sit by me." And so Harry went. And then she talked quietly to him about his work at school, and how she hoped that one day he would be able to go to Oxford. It was well for her, poor thing, she had these little makeshifts for conversation. That which lay nearest her heart, was now too much well-nigh for words to express. "You are young now, dear boy, but still old enough to know that your after-life depends on yourself; and if you work steadily on, you can win a scholarship." "What is a scholarship, mamma?" "A sum of money, dear, which is allowed you every year while you are at Oxford, to help to pay your expenses. Because, you know, papa couldn't afford to pay all the money it would cost while you were there." "And why couldn't you pay it, mamma?" "I shall not be here then, dear boy," said Mrs Campbell, very softly. "But you will be wherever I am, mamma." "I shall be sleeping in the churchyard, darling boy; over yonder, under the tall, grey tower." Harry burst out impetuously: "No, you shan't die, mamma! Why should you die? I won't let you go!"