would have
thought it needed some restoring."

"I do wonder whether he has a wife and a family," said my sister. "Poor
souls, how lonely they will be! Why, excepting ourselves, there is not a
family that they could speak to for seven miles and more."

"General Heatherstone is a very distinguished soldier," remarked my
father.

"Why, papa, however came you to know anything about him?"

"Ah, my dears," said my father, smiling at us over his coffee-cup, "you
were laughing at my library just now, but you see it may be very useful
at times." As he spoke he took a red-covered volume from a shelf and
turned over the pages. "This is an Indian Army List of three
years back," he explained, "and here is the very gentleman we
want-'Heatherstone, J. B., Commander of the Bath,' my dears, and 'V.C.',
think of that, 'V.C.'--'formerly colonel in the Indian Infantry, 41st
Bengal Foot, but now retired with the rank of major-general.' In this
other column is a record of his services--'capture of Ghuznee and
defence of Jellalabad, Sobraon 1848, Indian Mutiny and reduction of
Oudh. Five times mentioned in dispatches.' I think, my dears, that we
have cause to be proud of our new neighbour."

"It doesn't mention there whether he is married or not, I suppose?"
asked Esther.

"No," said my father, wagging his white head with a keen appreciation
of his own humour. "It doesn't include that under the heading of 'daring
actions'--though it very well might, my dear, it very well might."

All our doubts, however, upon this head were very soon set at rest, for
on the very day that the repairing and the furnishing had been completed
I had occasion to ride into Wigtown, and I met upon the way a carriage
which was bearing General Heatherstone and his family to their new home.
An elderly lady, worn and sickly-looking, was by his side, and opposite
him sat a young fellow about my own age and a girl who appeared to be a
couple of years younger.

I raised my hat, and was about to pass them, when the general shouted to
his coachman to pull up, and held out his hand to me. I could see now
in the daylight that his face, although harsh and stern, was capable of
assuming a not unkindly expression.

"How are you, Mr. Fothergill West?" he cried. "I must apologise to
you if I was a little brusque the other night--you will excuse an old
soldier who has spent the best part of his life in harness--All
the same, you must confess that you are rather dark-skinn