services, and I do not doubt you will find
yourself a man in authority over a certain number of Egyptians."

"What sort of soldiers do these Egyptians make? They did not do much
good against us under Arabi."

"No; and we have a lot who ran away at Tel-el-Kebir here. They are no
good. The Egyptian rule has been a curse to the Soudan, and the
Egyptian troops are the greatest curs that ever tempted a brave but
unarmed people to throw off the yoke. But suppose we go to the camp."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

KAVANAGH'S CHOICE.

Captain Strachan was an old naval officer, who lived in a rather retired
spot on the borders of Somersetshire and Devonshire. His house had a
verandah round it, and one warm afternoon he was sitting at a table
under this, spectacles on nose, tying artificial flies. A young son of
twelve sat by him rapt, holding feathers and silk, which latter he had
previously drawn through a kid glove containing cobbler's wax, and
wondering whether he should ever attain to the paternal skill in this
manufacture.

Mrs Strachan and two of her girls were round another wicker-work table
a little farther off, indulging in afternoon tea, their books and
needlework put down for the minute. Presently the sound of a horse's
hoofs was heard upon the gravel beyond the garden hedge, and Mary, the
eldest girl, jumped from her low basket chair, exclaiming--

"Here he comes!"

Everybody looked up, expectant; even Captain Strachan laid down his
work--and those who have ever endeavoured to manufacture an artificial
fly know what _that_ means--as our old friend, Tom Strachan, walked up
the path towards the group. As he did not look very pleased, his mother
concluded the worst, and said--

"Never mind, Tom, if you _have_ failed; very few succeed the first time,
and you have two more chances."

For Tom had been in for the competitive examination, and had now ridden
over to Barnstaple to forestall the country postman and learn his fate.

"But I have not failed, mother," said Tom; "indeed, I am pretty high up
in the list--better than I expected."

"Well done, my boy!" cried Captain Strachan. "Not that I had any fear
for you, because I saw you reading steadily at home when there was no
pressure put upon you. And those were the fellows who always passed in
my days. But I am glad it is safe, all the same, and we will have a
bottle of that old Ferrier-Jouet for dinner on the strength of it. But
I say, Tom, you look as grav