ical fashion. It had been delightful having his
company, for it had seemed like a "bit of home," but he would have been
dreadfully in the way in Paris, where the avowed business of the day was
the purchase of clothes and fripperies. Mrs Saville and her daughter
prepared for the fray with every appearance of enjoyment, and though the
colonel professed a horror of shopping, he yet manifested an agreeable
interest in their purchases.

"I can't afford to give you _carte blanche_, with all the expenses of
the new house before us," he explained, "but one or two pretty frocks
apiece you must and shall have, while we are on the spot; so go ahead
and make yourself smart, and I'll brace my nerves to face the bill."

There was no fear that Miss Peggy would not go ahead in such an
occupation. The only difficulty was that she went ahead too fast; but
by dint of forbearance, mingled with judicious firmness, the choice was
made at last, and in due time the dresses came home, the bills were
paid, and Colonel Saville, blessing Providence that he had not six women
to dress instead of two, hurried on the day of departure from a city of
such ruinous fascinations.

On one happy spring morning, then, behold the Saville trio once more
nearing the white cliffs of Old England--blessed travellers, whose exile
was over, and who could look forward to spending the rest of their lives
in that dear old country which, despite its rain and fog, must ever be
the dearest in the world to true-born Britons.

They stood together, amidst the bustle of arrival, looking with
sparkling eyes at the well-remembered scene, for there was no necessity
to hurry for the train, and Colonel Saville, with all a soldier's
intolerance of a scramble, decided to wait on board until the general
exodus was over. "Then we will get a porter to take our boxes quietly
ashore," he explained to his companions; and, as if his words had been
overheard, at that very moment a candidate for that post came up from
behind.

"Carry your boxes, sir? Can I carry your boxes?" cried a breezy voice,
at the sound of which Peggy gasped, Mrs Saville laid her hand over her
heart, and the colonel wheeled round to confront Arthur himself, taller,
broader, handsomer than ever.

"My boy!" he cried brokenly.

"Arthur!" gasped his mother, and lay sobbing on the dear, strong
shoulder, while Peggy stroked the tails of his coat, and assiduously
licked away the tears which would insist upon flowi