he was impulsive, and without much worldly wisdom,
and Mr. Hardcastle seemed sympathetic, so on the spur of the moment she
told him the urgency of Athelstane's need, and how she was trying to
meet it. He sat quite quiet for a short time, staring into the fire,
then he said, very gently and kindly:

"My dear little girl, you needn't part with your dog. I believe I can
lend your brother all the medical books he wants."

"You! But you're not a doctor?" exclaimed Ingred.

"No, but my boy was studying medicine at Birkshaw. He had just passed
his intermediate M. B. when he was called up. I've got all his books. He
won't want them again now. He was flying over the German lines, and his
machine crashed down. One comfort, he was killed instantly! He had
always hoped he'd never be taken prisoner. I think he'd have liked his
books to be put to some use. I'll hunt them out, and send them across to
your brother, and the microscope, and any other things I can find. He
may just as well have them."

There was a huskiness in the old gentleman's voice, but he coughed it
away.

"I don't know how to thank you!" stammered Ingred.

"I don't want any thanks. It's only a neighborly act. Take your dog
home, and say nothing about all this. I'll write to your brother. I
wonder I never thought about it before!"

Mr. Hardcastle was as good as his word, for next Monday evening quite a
large consignment arrived for Athelstane, with a note offering the loan
of books and microscope if they would be of any service in his medical
studies.

"Why, they're absolutely the very things I wanted!" exclaimed that youth
rapturously. "What a trump he is! A real good sort! I say, you know,
it's really most awfully kind of him! I wonder what the Dickens put it
into his head?"

But on that point none of the family could enlighten him, for only
Ingred and Derry knew the secret, and Ingred was at school, while Derry,
belonging to the dumb creation, expressed his opinions solely in barks.

When the household was reunited for next week-end, the clouds had
cleared from Athelstane's horizon, but seemed to have settled more
darkly than ever round Egbert. There was a horrible feeling of impending
storm in the home atmosphere. It lent a constraint to conversation at
meals, and put an effectual stopper on the fun which generally
circulated round the fireside. It was all the more uncomfortable because
nobody voiced the cause.

"Father looks unutterables, Mother's