"That would be quite different," said Frank. "You are a stranger. I was often here last winter. I am one of the children when I am here.

Aunt Mary does not make a stranger of me."

"But, Frank," said Jessie, "David is away now on Sunday afternoon, and Violet and Jem. And, perhaps, mamma will let us all go, and go herself, if there are any more children."

"Where?" asked Frank.

"At Sunday-school--down on Muddy Lane. Mr Caldwell's Sunday-school."

"Old Caldwell!" said Frank. "That's the way, is it? How do you like it, Davie?"

"Sunday-school is not a new thing to us, you know," said David.

"But it is a new thing for you to be a teacher," said Jem. "Oh! he likes it. Davie's a great man on Sunday, down in Muddy Lane."

"Nonsense, Jem!"

"I went once," said Jessie, "and it is very nice. Letty sings, and the children sing too. And one of the girls broke Letty's parasol--" And Mrs Inglis's attention being occupied for the moment, Jessie gave other particulars of the school, quite unmindful of her sister's attempts to stop her.

Ned had something to tell, too, and entered into minute particulars about a wager between two of the boys, as to whether Mr Caldwell wore a wig or not, and the means they took to ascertain the truth about it.

"They must be rather stupid not to know that," said Frank.

"Do you like it?" asked Philip of Violet.

"Yes, indeed! I like it very much. But I don't like Ned's telling tales out of school, nor Jessie, either."

"But mine are not bad tales. I like it too," said Jessie.

"But I should think it would be very unpleasant. And what is the good of it? Muddy Lane of all places!" said Philip, making an astonished face.

"That shows that you don't know Aunt Mary and her children," said Frank, laughing. "You would never ask what is the good, if you did."

"I know, of course, there must be good to the children, but I should think it would be decidedly unpleasant for you. Muddy Lane cannot be a nice place at any time, and now that the warm weather is coming--"

"You don't suppose Violet is one of the people who is afraid of a little dust, or bad odours, and all that, do you?" asked Frank.

"She rather likes it--self-denial and all that," said Jem. "And as for Davie--"

"Nonsense, Jem! Self-denial indeed! There is very little of that,"

said David. "You know better than that, if Frank does not."

"And old Caldwell, of all people in the world," said Philip, laughing; "I did not suppose he could speak to any one younger than fifty--except Davie. What can he have to say to children, I wonder?"

"Oh, he has enough to say. You ought to hear him," said Jem.

"Thank you. I'll come and hear him--to-morrow, perhaps."

"Mr Caldwell did not like the new hymn-book at first," said Jessie.

"But the children like them, and Letty teaches them to sing, and it is very nice. I hope we can go to-morrow."

"I hope so," said Mr Philip.

"But you don't care about such things, do you?" asked Jessie.

"I ought to care, ought I not?"

"Yes; but you ought not just to make believe care."

Mr Philip laughed a little.

"There is no make believe about it. I shall like to go to-morrow very much."

They were all away from the table by this time, and Frank sat down with David on the window seat. He put his arm round his shoulder, boyish fashion, and laid his head down upon it.

"Is it military duty you are doing, Davie, down in Muddy Lane?" said he, softly.

All the talk that had been going on had put David out a good deal, and he did not answer for a minute. It seemed to him that a great deal had been made of a little matter, and he was not well pleased.

"Don't you remember about the 'armour,'" said Frank.

"Don't Frank?" said David. It hurt him to think that Frank should make a jest of that.

"Indeed I am not jesting, Davie. That is one way of fighting the good fight--is it not? And I want to have a good long talk about it again."

"With mamma, you mean."

"Yes, and with you. Don't you remember Hobab and old Tim?"

David did not answer in words, and both the boys sat silent, while the others grew eager in discussing quite other things. It was growing dark, and Philip decided that it would be better to leave the boat and walk home. Then something was said about future sails, and then Philip told them of a friend of his who was going to be one of a party who were to explore the country far west. He was going to try and persuade his father to let him join it. It was an exploring company, but a good many were to join it for the sake of the hunting and fishing, and the adventures that might fall in their way. They were to be away for months, perhaps for the whole summer, and a great deal of enjoyment was antic.i.p.ated. Jem listened intently.

"That would just suit me, mamma," said he, with a sigh.

"I dare say it would be pleasant for a while," said she, smiling.

"It would hardly suit you to lose a summer out of your life, Jem," said David, sharply.

Jem whistled.

"You are there! are you, David? No, that wouldn't suit me, exactly."

"Lose a year out of his life! What can you mean?" said Mr Philip, in astonishment.

"What would come out of such a summer, except just the pleasure of it?"

said David.

"Well! there would be a great deal of pleasure. What else would you have?"

David made no answer.