"Um," again remarked the Myjor, and stared at Ger thoughtfully.

"Well," he said at last, "since you are here, what is it you find so hard about reading?"

"It's so muddly," Ger complained, "nasty little letters and all so much alike."

"Exactly so," said the Myjor.

Then he drew down the blinds.

Ger's heart beat fast. Here was an adventure indeed, and when you were once well in for an adventure all sorts of queer things happened.

Unprecedented things happened to Ger, but he was never very clear afterwards as to what they were. So many things were "done to him"

that he became quite confused. Lights flashed into eyes, lights so brilliant that they quite hurt. Curious spectacles with heavy frames and gla.s.ses that took in and out were placed upon his nose, and he was only allowed to use one eye at a time, the other being blotted out by a black disk in the spectacles. At last he looked through with both eyes together at letters on a card, letters that were blacker and clearer than any he had ever seen before . . . and the blinds were drawn up.

"Will you please tell me," Ger asked politely, "what is that curious uniform you wear? I don't seem to have seen it before, an' I've seen a great many."

The Myjor laughed. "It's my working kit; don't you like it?"

"Very much," said Ger, "I think you look like an angel."

"Really," said the Myjor. "I haven't met any, so I don't know."

"I haven't exactly met any," said Ger, "but I've seen portraits of two, and . . . I know a lot about them."

"Now, young man, you listen to me," said the Ram-Corps Angel. "Eyes are not my job really, but I'm glad you looked in to see me, for I'll send you to someone who'll put you right and you'll read long before the Kitten. She'll never catch you. Right away you'll go, she won't be in the same field. You'd better go back now, or Mrs Grantly will be wondering where you are--cheer up about that reading."

"Will I?" Ger asked breathlessly. "Shall I be able to get into the Shop? They pill you for eyes, you know."

"Your eyes will be all right by the time you're ready for the Shop.

You see crooked just now, you know--and it wants correcting, that's all."

"What?" cried Ger despairingly. "Do I squint?"

"Bless you, no; the sight of your two eyes is different, that's all--when you get proper gla.s.ses you'll be right as rain. Lots of people have it . . . if you'd been a Board School you'd have been seen to long ago," he added, more to himself than to Ger.

Then Ger shook hands with the Ram-Corps Angel and walked rather slowly and thoughtfully across the common to grandfather's house though the wind was colder than ever. He forgot to look in at the Shop gate, but the parade ground was empty. The cadets had finished drilling. Ger had been so long in that darkened room.

He had lunch alone with his grannie, for grandfather was lunching at his club. There was no poking of the Ffolliot children into schoolrooms and nurseries for meals when they stayed with the ganpies.

His face was clean and his hair very smooth, and he held back Mrs Granny's chair for her just as grandfather did. She stooped and kissed the fresh, friendly little face and told him he was a dear, which was most pleasant.

He was hungry and the roast mutton was very good, moreover he was going to the Zoo that afternoon directly after lunch, grannie's French maid was to take him. They were to have a taxi from Charing Cross, and lunch pa.s.sed pleasantly, enlivened by the discussion of this enchanting plan.

Presently he asked, apropos of nothing: "Do all the Ram-Corps officers look like angels?"

"Like angels!" Mrs Grantly repeated derisively. "Good gracious, no!

Very plain indeed, some of them I've seen."

"The one at the Cadet Hospital does," Ger said positively, "like a great big angel and a dear."

"Who? Major Murray?" Mrs Grantly inquired, looking puzzled; "where have you seen him?"

But at this very moment someone came to tell Ger it was time to get ready, and in the fuss and excitement of seeing him off, his grannie forgot all about the Ram Corps and its angelic attributes.

It was her day. Guest after guest arrived, and she was pretty tired by the time she had given tea to some five and twenty people.

The General never came in at all till the last guest had gone. Then he sought his wife, and standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire he told her that Major Murray had been to see him, and had recounted Ger's visit of the morning, and the result of his investigations.

Mrs Grantly, which was unusual, never interrupted once.

"So you can understand," the General concluded, "I didn't feel like facing a lot of people."

"I shall write at once to Margie," Mrs Grantly cried breathlessly, "and tell her she is a fool."

"I wouldn't do that," the General said gently; "poor Margie, she has a good deal on her shoulders."

"All the same--do you remember that that unfortunate child has been punished--punished because he was considered idle and obstinate over his lessons . . . punished . . . little Ger--friendly, jolly little Ger . . . I can't bear it," and Mrs Grantly burst into tears.

The General looked very much as though he would like to cry too. "It's an unfortunate business," he said huskily, "but you see, none of us have ever had any eye trouble, and the other children have all such good sight . . . it never occurred to me . . . I must confess . . . of course it can be put right very easily; you're to take him to the oculist to-morrow; I've telephoned and made the appointment."

Mrs Grantly dried her eyes.

"We're all to blame," she exclaimed, "I'm just as much to blame as Margie . . . she'll be fearfully upset I don't know how to tell her."

"Tell you what," exclaimed the General, "I'll write to Ffolliot . . .

I'll do it now, this instant, and the letter will catch the 7.30 post . . ."

At the door he paused and added more cheerfully, "I shall enjoy writing to Ffolliot."

CHAPTER XVIII

WHAT FOLLOWED

As General Grantly had predicted, Mrs Ffolliot was very much upset when she heard about Ger's eyes, and was for rushing up to London herself, there and then to interview the oculist. But Mr Ffolliot dissuaded her. For one thing, he hated Redmarley without her even for a single night. For another, he considered such a journey a needless expense.

This, however, he did not mention, but contented himself with the suggestion that it would seem a reflection upon Mrs Grantly's competence to do anything of the kind; and that consideration weighed heavily with his wife where the other would have been brushed aside as immaterial and irrelevant. "I can't understand it," the Squire remarked plaintively; "I did not know there had ever been any eye trouble in your family."

"There never has, so far as I know; but surely," and Mrs Ffolliot spoke with something less than her usual gentle deference, "we needn't seek far to find where Ger gets his."

"Do you mean that he inherits it from ME?"

"Well, my dear Larrie, surely _you've_ got defective sight, else why the monocle?"

"But Ger isn't a bit like me. He is all Grantly. In character, I sometimes think he resembles your mother, he is so fond of society; in appearance he's very like the others, except the Kitten. Now, if the Kitten's sight had been astigmatic . . ."

"We must take care that she doesn't suffer from neglect like poor little Ger," Mrs Ffolliot interrupted rather bitterly. "I shall write at once to their house-master to have the twins' eyes tested. I'll run no more risks. We know Grantly's all right because he pa.s.sed his medical so easily. Poor, poor little Ger."

"It certainly is most unfortunate," said Mr Ffolliot.