is so full of fun, and says odd things; but I never came near Pat's equal before; he is going to give me a lock of his hair the next time it is cut,” said Guy to the Dean. "Who first thought of that?" hinted Charlie.

"What do you mean, Prince?"

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Now, Guy, my brother, didn't you ask him for one ? " “Yes, I did.”

"Well, then, my son, it is more yourself than Pat, in that case," said Lord Menteith.

"I take him for a very mischievous boy," remarked the Dean. "Do you like him, Charlie ?”

"Yes, uncle, very much indeed. He is so honest, and truthful, and kind. You may believe every word Pat says; and when he has once given his word, he will never break it.” "I am very pleased to hear such a favourable account of him," said the Dean.

"It's true, uncle; we all like him, both boys and masters. I know Mr. Ellsworth does."

"I do," echoed Guy; and I know very little of him.” At practice, next morning, Dr. Westwood astonished the boys by saying: "Melville! you must get up the · Veni Creator' for next Saturday afternoon. Should Menteith be absent on Trinity Sunday, you will have to sing in his stead. We will take it now; I will play a few chords, then you must begin."

Very much surprised was Arthur, at this startling announcement, and somewhat disconcerted; his beginning being anything but satisfactory.

"That will not do," said the organist. "You know the air well enough; take up your part with more decision,

and keep your time steady. Menteith, you must drill him with the time. Now, Melville! we will start afresh; don't detach that high note, it sounds anything but agreeable." This time Arthur managed better; and by dint of practice, contrived, at last, to sing it passably well.

"We will take it every day," said Dr. Westwood, "then, by Saturday, you will have become accustomed to it."

On Saturday afternoon the choir was, as usual, tolerably filled with people, and pit-a-pat went Arthur's little heart, at the task imposed upon him,—indeed, Pat was overheard to say he heard him shaking.

He stood by Charlie's side, who, with his finger, beat time on the desk for him.

A beautiful picture they made, the tall, golden-haired boy, with his lovely, refined face, and the handsome, dark child, with his olive skin, his dark, wavy hair, and clear brown eyes. And in spite of his nervousness, he sang well-so well as to set Dr. Westwood's mind at rest about Trinity Sunday, and the Ordination Service falling thereon.

CHAPTER XXXI.

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THE JOURNEY.

OOD-BYE, boys! Good-bye, Dysie! Good-bye,

6°

Arthur! Good-bye, Stanley! Good-bye, Pat! and Jackie! Good-bye, all!" said Charlie, who was standing at the school-room door.

"Make haste back, old fellow," returned Alfred Everard. "We shall be pleased to see you."

"Sure, but it's myself that's thinking ye'd better be making your will!" said Pat.

"What for?" asked Arthur, laughing.

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Why, faith! but the Rhinelanders will perhaps be afther taking a fancy to him, and keep him; and what will become of his books and things, then ?"

"No fear!" replied Charlie; "still, in case they should, I leave all my property in your charge. I shall not be very long gone, boys; and I hope to bring dear mamma back with me. Good-bye, old friends!"

'Quick return! "

Hope you'll find Lady Menteith well!" and amid a chorus of shouts and cheers, Charlie made good his

escape.

They were to start on the morrow, for Germany, Lord Menteith, Alex, Guy, and Charlie,-it being arranged that their journey should be taken, via Belgium and the Rhine, leaving Alex and Guy at Bonn, for a night, until the glad tidings should have been broken to Lady Menteith.

With what delight did Charlie undertake this journey; how astonished was he at the quaint, strangely-built Belgian towns through which they passed; how full of exuberant pleasure at the lovely Rhineland scenery. Nothing of note occurred on the hurried journey, Lord Menteith being very anxious to reach Rolandseck, for his wife's sake,

He sat by the barge-side, alone, on this bright sunshiny day, his eyes absently fixed on the placid water, his thoughts far away. In imagination he was again at Menteith, a happy, light-hearted boy, the joy of his parents' hearts, learning lessons of nobility and goodness at the hands of his noble father. "Like father, like son," had the Menteiths been, for many generations; largehearted, kindly-disposed, honourable to all, and in the several relations of son, brother, husband, and father, excellent indeed. Such had been the late peer, such was the present one, and such promised to be, the young Claude.

In retrospect, again he lived those early days,-in his case, days of moulding to goodness and purity. Again he recalled the advent of his youthful, orphan cousin, Lilias Gordon, at Menteith; and how his gentle mother charged him to be kind to the sorrowing maiden. Readily he promised a brother's protecting care to the lovely girl, and well he kept his word.

Then, years later, when Lilias became his wife, he deemed that none on the whole wide earth had so fair and enviable a lot as himself. And how happy they were, how blest, in the possession of their six beautiful children —until—ah! that time! that agonizing time of unutterable woe and desolation! when she lay at death's door, brought there by the irreparable loss of her beloved baby-boy, her Charlie; even now the remembrance of its weary, weary, hopeless misery caused a sigh; and a look of extreme pain contracted the handsome features, as he reflected on this sad period of his existence.

As he mused, a pair of little arms stole round his neck, and a sweet voice whispered "Papa, Rolandseck is in sight!"

It was Charlie, who, with flushed face and trembling lips, sought his father.

"My darling," returned Lord Menteith, "you must strive to be calmer than this; if your mother sees you thus, it will excite her fears."

"I will try to be calm, papa; but I feel so strange," and the fair head sank on his father's breast.

At last the barge stopped, and Lord Menteith sprang out, and was heartily welcomed by Claude and Cyril, whom Lady Menteith had despatched to meet him.

"My sons, I have somewhat to tell you," said the father. "Of what, papa? Any hope?" asked Cyril.

It was the Menteith cry, and had been, for years, "Any hope?"

"Yes, my sons, at last I can give you news of him, our dear little Charlie."