n events crowded upon Mrs. Archer. The Rector died, and she left her
old home; and her son and his friend went into the army, Henry as sub.,
Malcolm as surgeon.

At the commencement of the story, Malcolm was assuring the mother that
he would stand by Henry in all dangers--under all circumstances
whatever.

"You will hear of the 5th Fusiliers favourably, I am sure," said he
lightly, trying to calm her agitation.

"Henry is so rash and ardent," she returned.

"And I am a cool, quiet fellow, ma'am. Oh, you may trust me--I'll have
an eye to him."

"Will there be wars, Doctor dear, where you ones is goin'?" asked old
Jack Dunn, wistfully, as he polished the young gentlemen's boots for the
last time before their departure. The friends were smoking a last pipe
by the kitchen fire of the cottage where Mrs. Archer lived in her
husband's old parish, among the people who had loved him. Jack was
polishing the boots close to them, pausing every now and then to
exchange a word with his "wichel," whom he had nursed as an infant,
petted and scolded as a schoolboy, and shielded from punishment on
innumerable occasions. His "wichel" was now a huge young man, taller
than Dr. McGregor by four inches.

"Wha'll black them boots now?" said Jack in a sentimental tone. "Wha'll
put the richt polish on them? Some scatter-brained youngster, I'm
thinkin', that shouldna be trusted to handle boots like these anes."
Thus he spoke, making the hissing, purring noise with which he
accompanied his rubbing down of King William.

The friends smiled at each other. "That's hard work, Jack," remarked
Henry.

"But are ye goin' to the wars, my wean? Doctor dear, tell me, will he be
fightin' them savage Indians?"

"We believe so, Jack. We are to join the 5th Fusiliers, and they are to
fight the warlike Hill Tribes, fine soldiers--tall, fine men they are,
we are told."

"Alase-a-nie! You'll nae be fightin' yoursel, Doctor?"

"No," smiled McGregor, "my duty will be to cure, not to kill."

"Then, man alive, ye'll hae an eye to Henry."

So the young men tore themselves away from the sobbing mother, and,
through her blinding tears, she watched them mount the steep road
leading to Letterkenny first and then to the outside world, where danger
must be faced and glory won. Her husband's loving people collected that
evening in her cottage garden to condole with her and offer their
roughly-expressed but heartfelt sympathy.

"Dinna be cryin' that way, mist