hinking what a
sweet picture she made, her golden hair shining in the sun, her blue
eyes wide with animation, and a glow of colour suffusing her lovely
clear-cut face. Then he read:

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Gallantry of a Scout."

It was just such a paragraph as is sure to occur from time to time in
the chronicling of any of the little wars in which the forces of the
British Empire are almost unceasingly engaged, in some quarter or other
of the same, and it set forth in stereotyped journalese, how Hilary
Blachland of the Scouting Section attached to the Salisbury Column, had
deliberately turned his horse and ridden back into what looked like
certain death, in order to rescue Trooper Spence, whose horse had been
killed, and who was left behind dismounted, and at the mercy of a large
force of charging Matabele, then but a hundred or two yards distant--and
how at immense risk to his rescuer, whose horse was hardly equal to the
double load, Spence had been brought back to the laager, unharmed,
though closely pursued and fired upon all the way. Bayfield gave a
surprised whistle.

"What, father? Isn't it splendid?" cried Lyn, wondering.

"Yes. Of course." What had evoked the outburst of amazement was the
name--the identity of the rescued man--but of this to be sure, Lyn knew
nothing. So of all others it was destined to be the man who had played
him a scurvy dog's trick that Blachland was destined to imperil his own
life to save: true that the said trick had been a very great blessing in
disguise, but that feet did not touch the motive thereof. It remained.

"Bah! The swine wasn't worth it," went on Bayfield, unconsciously.

"No, very likely not," assented Lyn. "But that makes it all the more
splendid--doesn't it, father?"

"Eh, what? Yes, yes--of course it does," agreed Bayfield, becoming
alive to the fact that he had been thinking out loud. "By Jove, Lyn,
you'll have to design a new order of merit for him when he gets back.
What shall it be?"

"Man, Lyn! Didn't I tell you he'd make old Lo Ben scoot?" said Fred
triumphantly, craning over to have another look at the paragraph, which
his father was reading over again. It did not give much detail, but
from the facts set forth it was evident that the deed had been one of
intrepid gallantry. Bayfield, yet deeper in the know, opined that it
deserved even an additional name, and his regard and respect for his