"Top-hole!" laughed the new-comer, beaming all over his face, which was a clean-shaven, boyish reproduction of his brother's, brown as a berry from the arduous training he had undergone with the Artists', and, breaking loose from Bob's grip, he kissed his mother tenderly. "You got my wire, dear little mater, but you didn't expect me so soon. It is good to be home again, even if it's only 'How d'you do?' and 'Bye-bye.' But isn't it fine putting me in Bob's battalion? How are the kids? And, I say, mater, is there any grub going? I didn't wait for breakfast before I left, and I'm hungry as a hunter." The wounded Belgian lieutenant in the adjoining room bit his lips as he overheard the joyful greetings. The rain had cleared, and as he stood looking out where the trim lawn sloped down to the water, he saw a couple of English Tommies in hospital blue sculling round one of the tufted islets. "Dennis, let me introduce you to Lieutenant Van Drissel, of the Belgian army," said Bob, coming in as Van Drissel turned round. "This is my brother whom we have been talking about," and the two shook hands. "Glad to meet you," said Dennis frankly. "Lucky bargee," smiled Van Drissel. "Isn't that right?" "Ah, you speak English? Yes, it is quite right. I am," laughed Dennis. "He speaks everything under the sun," said his brother. "And, by the way, Dennis is a great stunt on languages. You two will be able to make us feel thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. My regular verbs are as rusty as a trench button." "Will you smoke?" said the Belgian, producing a silver cigarette-case. "Not just now, thanks. I'm going to have some grub first, and if you don't mind I'll bunk upstairs and get a sluice." "That boy is one of the best in the world, although he's my own brother," explained Bob Dashwood when Dennis had gone. "How old?" "Eighteen and a half," replied Bob. "It is young to be killed," said Van Drissel gravely. "But he isn't killed yet. Never knew such a fellow for falling on his feet. Of course, we all have to take our chances out there, but I don't mind betting you he comes off with a D.S.O. or a Military Cross, or something or other. You will hear of him yet, mark my words." Thanks to Bob's experience, the kit buying did not take long, and in three days the boy sported his service uniform, to the rather oppressive admiration of Billy and the huge delight of his sisters. The Medical Board, too, had passed Bob as fit for service again, and the kit leave went like a flash. Altogether, it had been a great week, with Dennis like a sea breeze filling the house with his wonderful spirits. There were people to dinner almost every evening, among them Uncle Eric, who was a staff captain at the War Office. And then it all came to an end, and the last night arrived, and the mother and her two soldier sons sat down to dinner alone. Mademoiselle Ottilie pleaded a headache, and her brother also invented an excuse for being absent.