While Raby that night dreamed troublously of the events of the day, a
soldier was sitting in his tent near Kandahar, some four thousand or
more miles away, reading a letter. He was an officer; his sword lay
beside him on the table, his boots were off, and a flannel coat took the
place of the regimental jacket which lay beside his saddle on the floor.
If these signs were not sufficient to prove that for the time being he
was off duty, his attitude as he lolled back in his camp-chair, with his
feet on the table considerably above the level of his chin, reading his
letter by the uncertain light of a lamp, would have left little doubt on
the subject. So engrossed indeed was he that he was unaware of the
presence of his native servant in the tent preparing supper, and read
aloud to himself. The envelope of the letter, which lay on the table,
was a foreign one with an English stamp, and addressed in a feminine
hand.
The soldier, having completed his first perusal, turned back to the
beginning, reading partly to himself, partly aloud.
"`October 4'--three months ago or more!--before she heard of this
business. `You poor dull darling'--nice names to call one's father,
true enough, though, at the time, it was brutally dull at Simla--`I can
fancy how you hate loafing about all day with nothing to do but try and
keep cool and find a place to sleep in where the flies can't worry you.'
Hum! Picture of a soldier's life! A little different from the usual
impression, but not very wide of the mark after all."
Then he read to himself for a bit something which made his weather-
beaten face soften, and brought a sparkle to his eyes.
"Bless the child!" he murmured; "she doesn't forget her old father!
`How glad I shall be if you get sent to the front, for I know how you
hate doing nothing. If you are, I shall be foolish, of course, and
imagine all sorts of horrors whenever I see a letter.' That's the way
girls back their fathers up! `Oh, why couldn't I be a soldier too, and
ride behind you into action, instead of dawdling here doing no good to
anybody, and living like a fine young lady instead of a simple soldier's
daughter?' Whew! what a fine little colour-sergeant she'd make!
Wouldn't Mrs Grundy sit up if she read that?
"Hum!" he went on, after reading a little further. "`I oughtn't to
grumble. Uncle Rimbolt is the kindest of protectors, and lets me have
far too many nice things. Aunt has a far better idea of what a
captain's daughter should be. She doesn't spoil me. She's like a sort
of animated extinguisher, and whenever I flicker up a bit she's down on
me. I enjoy it, and I think she is far better pleased that I give her
something to do than if I was awfully meek. It all helps to pass the
time till my dear old captain comes home.' Heigho! that means she's
miserable, and I'm not to guess it! I had my doubts of Charlotte
Rimbolt when I let her go to Wildtree. Poor little Raby! she's no match
for an animated extinguisher!
"`Percy,' continued the letter, `is as lively and full of "dodges" as
ever. He soon got over his kidnapping adventure. Indeed, the only
difference it has made is that we have now one, or rather two, new
inmates at Wildtree, for Uncle Rimbolt has employed Percy's rescuer as
his librarian, and the dog has, of course, taken up his abode here too.
He is a perfect darling! so handsome and clever! He took to me the
first moment I saw him, and he would do anything for me.' Really!" said
the father; "that's coming it rather strong, isn't it, with the new
librar-- Oh, perhaps she means the dog! Ha, ha! `Aunt Rimbolt gets
some fine extinguisher practice with this newcomer, against whom she has
a most unaccountable prejudice. He is very shy and gentlemanly, but I
am sure Percy never had a better friend. He has become ever so much
steadier.' Did you ever know such letter-writers as these girls are?
Which newcomer does she mean, the fellow who's a perfect darling, or the
fellow who's shy and gentlemanly? and which, in the name of wonder, is
the man and which the dog? Upon my word, something awful might be going
on, and I should be none the wiser! `Julius nearly always escorts me in
my walks. He is _such_ a dear friendly fellow, and always carries my
bag or parasol. Aunt, of course, doesn't approve of our being so
devoted to one another, for she looks upon Julius as an interloper; but
it doesn't matter much to us. Percy often comes with us, but Julius
rather resents a third person. He thinks--so do I, much as I like
Percy--that two are company and three are none.'"
Major Atherton--for the soldier was no other--leaned back in his chair,
and fanned himself with the letter.
"How _on earth_ am I to know who or what she is talking about? If it's
not the dog, upon my honour, Aunt Rimbolt-- It can't be the dog, though.
She calls him Julius; and why should she take the boy along with them
if it wasn't the librarian puppy she walked with? Rimbolt ought to look
after things better than that!
"`Uncle Rimbolt thinks very highly of his new _protege_. He is so
quiet; it is quite painful sometimes talking to him. I'm sure he has
had a lot of trouble; he has a sort of hunted look sometimes which is
quite pathetic. Aunt hardly ever lets him come into the drawing-room,
and when she does it is generally in order to snub him. I fancy he
feels his anomalous position in this house very much.'"
"My patience! That's a mild way of putting it!" exclaimed the major;
"the anomalous position of this hunted-looking, shy librarian who
carries her parasol and escorts her about, and suggests to Percy that
two are company and three are none! All I can say is the sooner we get
into Kandahar and are paid off home the better!"
"What's that you're saying about Kandahar, old man?" said a voice at the
door of the tent, and there entered a handsome jaunty-looking officer of
about Atherton's age.
"That you, Forrester? Come in. I've just had a letter from my little
girl."
A shade crossed Captain Forrester's cheery face.
"Your luck, my dear boy. I haven't had a line."
"Perhaps there's a letter for you at head-quarters."
"I doubt it. But don't talk about it. How's your girl flourishing?"
"Upon my honour, she seems to be a little too flourishing," said the
major, taking up his letter with a look of puzzled concern. "You may be
a better English scholar than I am, Forrester, and be able to make head
or tail of this. As far as I can make it out, Raby is flourishing very
decidedly. Here, read this second sheet."
Captain Forrester took the letter, and read the part indicated
carefully.
The major watched him anxiously till he had done.
"Well?" he asked, as his comrade handed it back.
"It seems to be a case," said the latter.
"That's what I thought. I don't like that carrying her parasol, and
telling the boy that two are company--"
Captain Forrester burst into a loud laugh.
"Why, you glorious old donkey, that's the dog!"
"Nonsense; she'd never say a dog was shy and gentlemanly, and looked as
if he'd had a lot of trouble."
"No," said the captain holding his sides, "that's the librarian."
"Who--the fellow Julius she talks about?" asked the major, beginning to
feel very warm.
"The fellow Julius! Why, Julius is the dog!"
The major rose from his seat in agitation, and stood before his friend.
"Forrester," said he solemnly, "as soon as I see the joke I'll laugh.
Meanwhile tell me this. Who in the name of mystery is it who feels his
anomalous position at Wildtree, the man or the dog?"
Captain Forrester held gallantly on to his chair to prevent falling off;
and the native without, hearing his shouts, looked in at the door to see
what the sahib wanted.
"My dear fellow," said he at last, "I begin to think I know more than
you. Can't you see this daughter of yours is decidedly interested in
this young _protege_ of her uncle?"
"Most decidedly I see that."
"And that in order to throw dust in your fatherly old eyes, she makes a
great gush about the dog Julius, and says hardly a word about the
master, whose name does not appear."
Major Atherton took up the letter again and glanced through it, and a
light began to break on his puzzled countenance.
"Then," said he, "the fellow who's handsome and clever and a perfect
darling is--"
"Is the bow-wow. And the fellow who's hunted-looking and not allowed in
the drawing-room is his master."
Major Atherton resumed his chair, and once more planted his feet on the
table.
"That is a way of putting it, certainly. If so, it's a relief."
"My dear boy, keep your eye on that librarian, or he may change places
with his dog in double-quick time."