Hooray!" shouted Dean.

"But I believe," continued Sir James, "that it would have woke him up a
bit, for he's nearly as bad as the Fat Boy in Pickwick."

"Oh, what a shame!" cried the boy.

"And one word more," continued Sir James, speaking earnestly now. "Do
you know, Robertson, this is very odd?"

"What is, sir?" said the doctor, for Sir James had ceased speaking.

"Why, that several times lately I have sat there in that chair thinking
about these two fellows and their education, and that though I don't
believe in what people call the Grand Tour, it would be a fine thing for
them if they were to travel and see a bit of the world. I mean real
travelling, into out-of-the-way places where they could shoot, and hunt,
and fish, and collect. I don't mean to go murdering about, seeing how
many poor animals they could slaughter, and calling it sport, but to go
out into the wilds getting their livings by their guns or rifles, and
learning at the same time the wonders of animated nature, and seeing
generally what there is to be found in life. Of course I know that you
could impart all this to the boys by means of books of travel, but how
would it be if you were to pick out some interesting country and teach
them by genuine travel? Much better than nailing you down to a table
with a pile of books. Why, doctor--boys--Bah! Bless my heart! There's
the dinner-bell! No dressing to-day. Come along. We must talk more of
this another time."

CHAPTER TWO.

HOW MARK ROCHE GAINED THE DAY.

The idea of travelling was not allowed to cool. A few days passed,
during which the project was discussed, and one morning during breakfast
the baronet broke out with, "I don't want to get rid of you boys, but I
lie awake of a night now, thinking of you going on such an expedition
with the doctor, then growl and grumble at myself with envy."

"Then you really mean us to go, father?"

"Mean it, yes. But it comes hard that you two should have father and
uncle who is ready to lay down the money--the bank notes to pay for it
all, and here am I going to be left at home longing for letters that can
only possibly come at very long intervals."

"Oh, father, but we shall write regularly," cried Mark.

"Of course!" said Sir James sarcastically. "Sit down at the end of a
day's tramp, when you are tired out, at a comfortable library table,
with a light of a shaded lamp, and write me a good long letter?
Rubbish, sir! You will neither