d.

"His account of his school," Harry answered simply, "makes me see that I
have been idle when I ought to have worked, and that I have not a genius
for books, and for what am I good? Only to spend my patrimony when I
come abroad, or to lounge at coffee-houses or racecourses, or to gallop
behind dogs when I am at home. I am good for nothing, I am."

"What, such a great, brave, strong fellow as you good for nothing?"
cries Het. "I would not confess as much to any woman, if I were twice as
good for nothing!"

"What am I to do? I ask for leave to go into the army, and Madam Esmond
does not answer me. 'Tis the only thing I am fit for. I have no money to
buy. Having spent all my own, and so much of my brother's, I cannot and
won't ask for more. If my mother would but send me to the army, you know
I would jump to go."

"Eh! A gentleman of spirit does not want a woman to buckle his sword on
for him or to clean his firelock! What was that our papa told us of the
young gentleman at court yesterday?--Sir John Armytage----"

"Sir John Armytage? I used to know him when I frequented White's and
the club-houses--a fine, noble young gentleman, of a great estate in the
North."

"And engaged to be married to a famous beauty, too--Miss Howe, my Lord
Howe's sister--but that, I suppose, is not an obstacle to gentlemen?"

"An obstacle to what?" asks the gentleman.

"An obstacle to glory!" says Miss Hetty. "I think no woman of spirit
would say 'Stay!' though she adored her lover ever so much, when his
country said 'Go!' Sir John had volunteered for the expedition which is
preparing, and being at court yesterday his Majesty asked him when he
would be ready to go? 'Tomorrow, please your Majesty,' replies Sir John,
and the king said, that was a soldier's answer. My father himself is
longing to go, though he has mamma and all us brats at home. Oh dear,
oh dear! Why wasn't I a man myself? Both my brothers are for the Church;
but, as for me, I know I should have made a famous little soldier!" And,
so speaking, this young person strode about the room, wearing a most
courageous military aspect, and looking as bold as Joan of Arc.

Harry beheld her with a tender admiration. "I think," says he, "I would
hardly like to see a musket on that little shoulder, nor a wound on that
pretty face, Hetty."

"Wounds! who fears wounds?" cries the little maid. "Muskets? If I could
carry one, I would use it. You men fancy that we women are good for
noth