s pet schemes for a model village;
then to Armstrong and his studies; then to a certain pair of foils that
hung in his room; then to the possibility of a yacht next summer; then
to the county festivities next winter, with perhaps a ball at Maxfield;
then to his approaching majority, and all the delights of unfettered
manhood; then--

He had got so far at the end of a mile, when he heard steps tramping
through the mud behind him.

It was Mr Armstrong.

The boy's first impulse was to put on an air of dejection he was far
from feeling; but his honesty came to his rescue in time.

"Hullo, Armstrong! I'm so glad it's you. You'll never guess what I was
thinking about when I heard you?"

"About being elected M.P. for the county?" asked the tutor gravely.

"How did you guess that? I tried to think about other things, you know,
but--"

"Luckily you chose to be natural instead. Well, I hope you'll be
elected, when the time comes."

The two beguiled their walk in talk which, if not exactly what might
have been expected of mourners, at least served to restore the boy's
highly-strung mind to its proper tone, and to make the aspect of things
in general brighter for him than it had been when he started so dismally
from the graveyard.

"Now," said he, with a sigh, as they entered the house, "now comes the
awful business of reading the will. Pottinger is sure to make an
occasion of it. It would be worth your while to be present to hear him
perform."

"Thanks!" said the tutor; "I'll look to you for a full account of the
ceremony by and by. I'll accompany it to slow music upstairs."

But as it happened, Mr Armstrong was not permitted to escape, as he had
fondly hoped, to his piano. Raffles followed him presently to his room
and said--

"Please, sir, Mr Pottinger sends his compliments, and will be glad if
you will step down to the library, sir."

Mr Armstrong scowled.

"What does he want?" he muttered.

"He wants a gentleman or two to say 'ear, 'ear, I fancy," said the page,
with a grin.

Mr Armstrong gave a melancholy glance at his piano, and screwed his
glass in his eye aggressively.

"All right, Raffles; you can go."

"What does the old idiot want with me, I wonder," said he to himself,
"unless it's to give me a month's notice, and tell me I may clear out?
Heigho! I hope not."

With which pleasant misgivings, he strolled down-stairs.

In the library was assembled a small but select audience to do Mr