the square garden.

"Why, mother, you've been crying," said the boy, tenderly.

"Can you see that, my dear?"

"Yes; what is the matter? I know, though. You're fretting about not
hearing from father."

"Well, is it not enough to make me fret, my boy?" she said,
reproachfully.

"Of course! And I'm so thoughtless."

"Yes, Roy," said Lady Royland, with a sad smile; "I am afraid you are."

"I try not to be, mother; I do indeed," cried Roy; "but tell me--is
there anything fresh? Yes; you've had some bad news! Then you've heard
from father."

"No, my boy, no; the bad news comes through Master Pawson. He has heard
again from his friends in London."

"Look here, mother," cried the boy, hotly, "I want to know why he should
get letters easily, and we get none."

Lady Royland sighed.

"Father must be too busy to write."

"I am afraid so, my dear."

"But what is the bad news he has told you this morning?"

They were close up to the foot of the corner tower as Roy asked this
question; and, as Lady Royland replied, a few notes of some air being
played upon the violoncello high up came floating down to their ears.

"He tells me that there is no doubt about a terrible revolution having
broken out, my boy; that the Parliament is raising an army to fight
against the king, and that his friends feel sure that his majesty's
cause is lost."

"Then he doesn't know anything about it, mother," cried the boy,
indignantly. "The king has too many brave officers like father who will
fight for him, and take care that his cause is not lost. Oh, I say,
hark to that!"

"That" was another strain floating down to them.

"Yes," said Lady Royland, sadly; "it is Master Pawson playing. He is
waiting for you, Roy."

"Yes, playing," said the boy, hotly. "It makes me think of what I read
with him one day about that Roman emperor--what was his name?--playing
while Rome was burning. But don't you fret, mother; London won't be
burnt while father's there."

"You do not realise what it may mean, my boy."

"Oh, yes, I think I do, mother; but you don't think fairly. You are too
anxious. But there! I must go up to him now."

"Yes, go, my boy; and you will not cause me any more anxiety than you
can help?"

"Why, of course I won't, mother. But if it is going to be a war, don't
you think I ought to learn all I can about being a soldier?"

"Roy! No, no!" cried Lady Royland, wildly. "Do I not suffer enough on
your father's ac