he time, I shan't like to leave you; but I'm such a
sleepy-headed chap, I shall never get on here, and if I go over there it
will wake me up."

"But I couldn't part with you, my boy," cried Mrs Dean. "I should be
all alone. What would become of me?"

"Why you'd go on just as you are, and I should send you home some money
sometimes; and when I've made my fortune I shall come back and make a
lady of you."

"No, no, no," she said, with the tears running down her cheeks; "I'd
rather stop as we are, Esau."

"Yes, but we can't."

"Yes, we can, dear. I've saved a few pounds now, and it only means
working a little harder. I can keep you, and I'm sure--"

"Stop!" roared Esau huskily. "I'm ashamed of you, mother. Do you think
I'm going to be such a sop of a fellow as to sit down here and let you
keep me? I suppose you'll want to keep Mr Gordon next."

"Then you've got nothing to be ashamed of, I'm sure, sir," said the
little woman tartly. "What's enough for two's enough for three, and I
was going to say, when you went on like that, that if Mr Gordon
wouldn't mind, and not be too proud at things not being quite so
plentiful, which everything should be clean as clean, it's very, very
welcome you'd be, my dear, for you never could have been nicer if you
had been my own boy."

"Mrs Dean," I cried, with a curious feeling in my throat, while Esau
looked at me searchingly, as if he thought I was going to accept the
offer, "that is quite impossible. Neither Esau nor I could do that.
Why, I should be ashamed even to think of it."

"Oh no," said Esau, sarcastically, "it's all right. Let mother do the
work, and we two will play at tops and marbles all day."

"Be quiet, Esau. I know you're only teasing. But why not, my dear? I
know I'm a very little woman, but I'm very strong."

"It's be quiet, mother, I think," cried Esau angrily. "What do you mean
by talking like that to Mr Gordon? I often calls him Gordon, 'cause
he's always been such a good chap to me; but I don't forget he's a
gentleman's son, and his mother was a born lady. I'm ashamed of you,
mother, that I am."

"But it's so dreadful, my boy--worse than your being a soldier. I could
come down to Woolwich to see you sometimes."

"No, no, Mrs Dean," I said; "don't say that. It really would be wise
for us to go. People do get on out there, and those friends of mine,
Mr John Dempster and Mrs John, are going."

"That's it then," cried the little lady a