better than toys or kittens, my
darling," continued Captain Dene--"more beautiful than I can either
imagine or describe. There will be pleasures of which you shall never
weary."

Joan thought hard for a minute, with a pucker in her white brow. Then
she slid from her father's knee and snatched up a shabby, battered doll
that was lying on the grass beside the bench, and clasping it tightly
to her breast, she delivered her decision,--

"I doesn't want no new fings. I wants my sweet Miss Carolina and the
pussies. So please tell dear Lord Jesus that He needn't trouble to get
anyfing ready, 'cause Joan isn't comin'."

The father gently stroked his little daughter's hair, but he said
nothing. What if God's last message to him were to come through the
muzzle of a Mauser rifle? Should it find him any more willing to leave
his motherless babes behind than was Joan to forsake her favourites?

"Now, chicks," he resumed, trying hard to speak cheerfully, "there is
Aunt Catharine at the door. It is your tea-time, I expect, and
children's bedtime comes early at Firgrove, as I know," he added,
smiling into Darby's wistful wee face. "But before you go in I want you
to sing me something that I shall think of when I am far away."

And in their clear, piping treble, with now and again a deeper note from
their father to carry them on, the little ones sang a favourite hymn,
the key-note of which, so to speak, dwelt with Captain Dene during many
a weary day and sleepless night,--

"Ever journeying onward,
Guided by a star."

Early next morning Darby had a queer dream. He dreamt that his father
came to his bedside, bent down, and kissed him repeatedly.

Was it a dream? Darby wondered, as he slowly awoke, sat up in bed, and
rubbed his eyes. Then suddenly he remembered that this was the day the
dear daddy was to leave them; or what if he were already gone!

Daylight had not yet come, but from a table in the far corner of the
nursery the night-lamp still glimmered faintly. Darby sprang to the
floor, calling loudly on Joan to come quick--quick. Together they
trotted downstairs. The breakfast-room was empty. From the drawing-room,
whither she had gone to have a good cry, came Auntie Alice, with tears
running down her cheeks, while close behind her sailed Aunt Catharine.
She was wrapped in a big, soft white shawl, and there was a curious
redness round her eyes, as if she had a cold in her head. But father was
not to be seen!

"