lad he is not going to be a soldier. I think it's silly having
nothing to do but drill in barracks, and pretending to fight when there
is no one to fight with. I should hate to be a soldier in times of
peace, and it would be fifty thousand times worse in war. Oh, my
goodness, shouldn't I be in a fright! I should run away--I know I
should; but Arthur would be in the front of every battle, and it's
absurd to think that he would not get killed. You know what Arthur is!
Did you ever know him have a chance of hurting himself and not taking
it? He would be killed in the very first battle--that's my belief--and
_then_ you would be sorry that you wanted him to be a soldier! Or, if
he wasn't killed, he would have his legs shot off. Last time I was in
London I saw a man with no legs. He was sitting on a little board with
wheels on it, and selling matches in the street. Well, I must say I'd
rather have my brother a civilian, as you call it, than have no legs, or
be cut in pieces by a lot of nasty naked old savages."

A general smile went round the company. There was no resisting it.
Even Arthur's face brightened, and he turned his head and looked at
Mellicent with his old twinkling smile.

"Bravo, Chubby!" he cried. "Bravo, Chubby! Commend me to Mellicent for
good, sound commonsense. The prospect of squatting on a board, selling
matches, is not exhilarating, I must confess. I'm glad there is one
person at least who thinks my prospects are improved." He gave a little
sigh, which was stifled with praiseworthy quickness. "Well, the worst
is over, now that I have told you and written the letter to India.
Those were the two things that I dreaded most. Now I shall just have to
face life afresh, and see what can be made of it. I must have a talk
with you, sir, later on, and get your advice. Cheer up, Peggikens!
Cheer up, mater! It's no use grieving over spilt milk, and Christmas is
coming. It would never do to be in the dolefuls over Christmas! I've
got a boxful of presents upstairs--amused myself with buying them
yesterday to pass the time. You come up with me to-night, Peg, and I'll
give you a peep. You look better than I expected, dear, but fearsome
scraggy! We shall have to pad her out a bit, shan't we, mater? She
must have an extra helping of plum-pudding this year."

He rattled on in his own bright style, or in as near an imitation of it
as he could manage, and the others tried their best to follow his