me of your brother's manner not a
little."

"Oh, papa! surely Mr. Warrington himself would act the Prince's part
best!" cries Miss Theo.

"And be deservedly slain in battle at the end?" asks the father of the
house.

"I did not say that,--only that Mr. George would make a very good
Prince, papa!" cries Miss Theo.

"In which case he would find a suitable Princess, I have no doubt. What
news of your brother Harry?"

George, who had been thinking about theatrical triumphs; about
monumentum aere perennius; about lilacs; about love whispered and
tenderly accepted, remembers that he has a letter from Harry in his
pocket, and gaily produces it.

"Let us hear what Mr. Truant says for himself, Aunt Lambert!" cries
George, breaking the seal.

Why is he so disturbed, as he reads the contents of his letter? Why do
the women look at him with alarmed eyes? And why, above all, is Hetty so
pale?

"Here is the letter," says George, and begins to read it:

"RYDE, June 1, 1758.

"I did not tell my dearest George what I hoped and intended, when I left
home on Wednesday. 'Twas to see Mr. Webb at Portsmouth or the Isle of
Wight, wherever his Regiment was, and if need was to go down on my
knees to him to take me as volunteer on the Expedition. I took boat from
Portsmouth, where I learned that he was with our regiment incampt at
the village of Ryde. Was received by him most kindly, and my petition
granted out of hand. That is why I say our regiment. We are eight
gentlemen volunteers with Mr. Webb, all men of birth, and good fortunes
except poor me, who don't deserve one. We are to mess with the officers;
we take the right of the collumn, and have always the right to be
in front, and in an hour we embark on board his Majesty's Ship the
Rochester of 60 guns, while our Commodore's, Mr. Howe's, is the Essex,
70. His squadron is about 20 ships, and I should think 100 transports at
least. Though 'tis a secret expedition, we make no doubt France is our
destination--where I hope to see my friends the Monsieurs once more,
and win my colours, a la point de mon epee, as we used to say in Canada.
Perhaps my service as interpreter may be useful; I speaking the language
not so well as some one I know, but better than most here.

"I scarce venture to write to our mother to tell her of this step. Will
you, who have a coxing tongue will wheadle any one, write to her as soon
as you have finisht the famous tradgedy? Will you give my affectionate