ond place, I do not vote you a nuisance. In the third place, if you
stand there much longer like that, with your coat off, you will catch
your death of cold, which would annoy me exceedingly."

This was one of many conversations which took place. It was difficult
to say whether Mr Armstrong took his new duties seriously or not. He
generally contrived to say something flippant about them when his pupil
tackled him on the subject, but at the same time he rarely failed to
give the boy a hint or two that somewhere hidden away behind the cool,
odd exterior of the man, there lurked a very warm corner for the
fatherless heir of Maxfield.

For the next week or two the days passed uneventfully. The manor-house
settled down to its old routine, minus the old man who had once been its
master. The villagers, having satisfied themselves that things were
likely to be pretty much the same for them under the new _regime_ as the
old, resumed their usual ways, and touched their caps regularly to the
young Squire. The trampled grass in Yeld churchyard lifted its head
again, and a new inscription was added to the family roll on the door of
the vault.

"Armstrong," said the heir one day, as he stood inspecting this last
memorial, "I have a good mind to have my brother's name put on here
too."

This was the first time the tutor had ever heard the boy mention his
brother. Indeed, he had, like Dr Brandram, doubted whether Roger so
much as knew that he had had a brother.

"What brother?" he inquired vaguely.

"Oh, he died long ago, before I was born. He was the son of father's
first wife, you know," pointing to the inscription of Ruth Ingleton's
name. "He is not buried here--he died abroad, I believe--but I think
his death should be recorded with the others. Don't you?"

"Certainly," said the tutor.

"I must try to find the exact date," said Roger as they walked away.
"My father would hardly ever talk about him; his death must have been a
knock-down blow to him, and I believe it broke his mother's heart.
Sometimes I wish he had lived. He was called Roger too. I dare say
Brandram or the Vicar can tell me about it."

Mr Armstrong was a good deal concerned at this unexpected curiosity on
the boy's part. He doubted whether it would not be better to tell him
the sad story at once, as he had heard it from the doctor. He disliked
secrets extremely, especially when he happened to be the custodian of
them; and painful as the disc