THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH.

Auckland Star, Volume XXX, Issue 88, 15 April 1899, Page 7 (Supplement)

THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH.

(By T. H. M. Howe.) I. -£ saw Dick Vandeleur into his hanBom a* the door °^ the 'Rag,' and then started afoot for my hotel. I felt misanthropic and despondent. 'Confound 'em, is everybody dead or married?' I ejaculated, for one old friend after another seemed to have met 'with the same fate. I had returned to England after jfcwelve years abroad, quite unprepared for the inevitable changes at the , lands of the ruthless Timekeeper. As often happens with people, I had Stepped ashore with my recollections oi the old scenes and old comrades gtill fresh upon me, and a vague, undefined idea of finding things much as I Shad left them. My life had been an active one. In ft crack Indian fighting corps 1 had Been almost continual service both in [Bunnah and on the ever-restless Indian frontier. The years had sped gwiftlj-, unmarked save by the milestones of promotion, or defections, caused by retirement and death, from the ranks of those around me. A Boldier preserves his youth longer than other men, and we don't grow old go quickly over seas as they do in prosaic, business-like Old England. When, therefore, I began to beat up pome of the old haunts, to find only new faces in place' of those I sought, and one old association after another vanished and gone, I began to get Sown-hearted, and to feel something like a modern Bip Van Winkle. Then, one day, in the 'Rag,' I stumbled across Vandeleur, one. of the boys, Once as careless and devil-may-care a fellow as could have been found in a long day's inarch. • ' The first shock I received was from Ibis failure to recognise me until I explained my identity. And then, when we had lunched jovially together, and

I was congratulating myself on the recovery of a boon companion at last, Jie administered a second. For, upon jny suggesting plans for the evening, he excused himself under the necessity of leaving town for the country that night. In fact, he blurted out, rather shamefacedly, he was now a * married man, and his 'missus,' as he

called her, was expecting him without

faU. He hurriedly gave me his address, and did hope I'd run down and tJook them up; had got a nice bit of i^hooting, and aH that.

He must have seen the pity in my ieyes, for he .hurried away soon after iihat. Poor beggar, poor Van, I thought. It's often the way with these wild bloods. They get broken fin by some pretty girl, and become as meek as Moses afterwards. So I found ii with one after another, till, in little ' imore than a week, I was in a gallop7£ng state of cynicism and despondency, and wondered if it were not time -for me to fly back to the dear old I corps at Peshawar. It was then that .'..■■•! got a letter from Jimmy Fitzgerald, ."■lit was short, and ran as follows:— 'My dear old Jack,—So you are back Irom "furren" parts at last. Whyever haven't you written? I came across jsDick Vandeleur the other day, who ijeaidhe had met you in town by yourjself, looking very disconsolate.. Come Icibwn to us at once bag and baggage. ■ In?he;g6vernor^nd mater are still go--sng strong, and will take no denial. •So glad you are still a rigid celibate, ,and hay'en like poor ;'Dld Van. He seemed to think you were very . disgusted with him. However, /tvou will find the old lot here the same as ever. Name your day by return post,—So long, yours always, J. Fitzgerald.' : My spirits went up once more. Had ?Mm told me he was married, I^think «y disgust would have sent me* back '• jto India by the next boat. I rejoiced, therefore, to find his letter breathing ithe same fine independent spirit as of jyore. 4 Hence H was in great contentment tot soul, compared with my late de- ; (spondency, that- one afternoon to. ftvards the middle of December I.took .train at Charing Cross for Daring, a \ lovely spot, as,l remembered it, in the Bxeart of the Kentish hop lands. Daring Park was the Fitggeralds' $>lace, and had been so for centuries. Cfimmy, the eldest son, and I had been gTeat chums at Harrow, and Oxford afterwards. In fact, we had been I anore like brothers, and I had freI fluently made the Park my home be--1 i ore the commencement of my service pver s&is. Jim and I had /jorrespond- • ted for a year, or so perhaps, but as time passed and I never came back, it dropped off in the usual way of such jthings. My parents were both, dead. My regiment thus came to be the only home I knew, and old England, with all it once contained for me, became little more than a pleasant memory. (My present return, quite unforeseen, Jwas solely occasioned by business taatters connected with the death of ' any mother's brother, who had made Sne his heir to a small estate, but good income, in the West of England. It was four o'clock when my train >an into the little station at Daring, Nvhere some half a dozen people were Standing about. Jim had promised to' jneet me, and I was keeping a look out when, my carriage was carried (close past a tall, brown-faced fellow in check tweeds, who immediately gave a view holloa and sprang after toe. In another moment dear old Jim I and I were gripping one another by

tthe hand. - • Ton my word, Ja«k,' he rattled on, ' *you're as "black as my boots, and factually grown good-looking, too; I declare. This soldiering has done any .amount for you. Now,. where'?. your Straps? They'll go with the carrier. J've the cartf outside, and. promised to trundle you back,in time for tea, ' ieo we'll stump along.' In a few minutes we were outside Ihe station, where Tom's cart awaited •Ms with Hall, his man, in attendance. It was the same' old Hall of bygone days, if ju^' a .trifle .rcrander, who touched his cap with a smile of recognition, but was delighted to take Mister Jack's hand when it was. offered to him. We got into our seats, JTom.Hall jumped up behind and off Sve bowled. , , , ''I don't think you look a day older, Pirn,' I said, 'and Tom behind there is , vthe same as ever, except for a bit round the waistband, perhaps.' 'Ah, I'm sorry to say,' returned Jim, ."that comes from Tom being a deBerter from the ranks of celibacy. : Sou remember little Phyllis Grey at the lodge gate. Well, she caught, i hup. I warned him she was setting ! her cap at him—you know I did, Tom •-but, Lord bless you, it wasn't a bit ; W good. She's been Mrs Hall for five : ■ ♦years, and there are three little Halls besides. The worst of it is he don t «eem a bit ashamed of himseli. Are fm, Tom?" . , . I ■ is£Ko, sir," replied^fclierivictinx of matn-

mony behind. 'I've seed no cause for that as yet, sir.'

'At anyrate, Jim,' I said, 'I'm glad to find you still belong to yourself, old boy. Everyone else seems to haife gone the same way.'

'Yes,' cut in Jim, 'it's just like the pestilence walking in the noonday, isn't it? You never know who's going off next. What can induce a free man to tie a log round his leg for life beats me. What's Tom laughing at behind, there?' he added, as a slight and suppressed chuckle reached our ears.

We passed through the little village of Daring, and another ten minutes brought us to the top of the hill where the big iron gates gave entrance to the park. From this point the twisted chimney stacks of the old house were visible above the trees half a mile below, and a wide stretch of familiar landscape, woodland, hill, and vale, over which the winter's sun was sinking.

'How it all comes back, Jim,' I said, looking about me as we sped down the avenue. 'Nothing .changes but human nature after all. There's old Billy Trueman's cottage still, and the orchard, where I used to swing- little Babs and toss her up for "apples.1 Good heavens, I suppose Babs herself has grown a. bit now!'

'Just a little bit,'. laughed Jim. 'At any rate, we've thought it best to put her into long frocks and call her Kit. However, there's nothing to prevent you calling her Babs, if you like. I shan't mind'— and he gave vent to another burst of laughter, wfiile Tom Hall once more betrayed .an unseemly tendency to be amused upon the slightest provocation. Five minutes later, when I had disembarked and was being warmly welcomed by two ladies in the hall, I understood things better.

Perhaps one of the most singular of our experiences, after a long absence from familiar scenes, is the hearty affectionate greeting we receive from those whom years have metamorphosed into almost entire strangers. Mrs Fitzgerald, whom I remembered as a dark-haired handsome woman, looked as stately as ever, but her hair was silverwhite, and her fine highVbred face had now lost its old unwrinkled smoothness. But it was in Miss Fitzgerald that most of the strangeness showed itself. Could the well-devel-oped young beauty at my hostess' side be the little twelve-year-old girl of the old orchard days? Could I ever have called her Babs? I prayed for Jim's discretion.

One is always prone to take up and apply one's lost recollections of old friends, and sometimes they abash one strangely. Mine did now. Whether she thought me changed from her boyish comrade of earlier days I could not guess; but as she scanned me with eyes whose smiling softiless acted as a gentle foil to the firmer curves of her mouth and chin, I was conscious of a new sense of pleasure, almost akin to pride, at my right to the friendship of so glorious a young being. 11. But if Miss Fitzgerald's beauty of face and form had struck me at our first meeting, the effect was considerably increased as I entered the drawingroom that night dressed for dinner. She was there alone, and was reclining in a low ample chair before a bright wood fire. Eeinforced by a display of charms denied to the garish light of day, she appeared to my dazzled vision like a young Diana and Venus rolled into one.

Upon the Indian frontier we don't encounter many specimens of the soft superior sex, and it had never fallen to my lot to meet with any like the young" goddess who had been evolved out of my little girl chum of earlier days. Old memories, therefore, were hardly potent enough, for the moment, to subdue the little, diffidence I felt about using our former familiar mode of address. So, feeling rather weak and helpless, I once more took refuge in her family name, as I had done earlier. But now she broke into a little laugh, as I dropped into a vacant seat hard by, and, with a pretty piece of woman's generalship, settled once and for all the terms of our friendship. 'I am afraid, Mister Willoughby,' she retorted, 'you are finding us all terribly .changed, aren't you?' 'Very charmingly so,' I replied, with a vague idea of being gallant, and feeling all the. time she would think me a fool for my pains! .'Oh, I do hope yon are not going to drop into polite formalities. You didn't, you, know, when you used to be here before. You startled me this afternoon, so I determined to have it out with you before it became a confirmed habit. I suppose I have grown a wee bit,' she Avent on, with a charming little mockery of penitence; lI am really awfully sorry, but I cant help it, can I? As far as memory goes it all might have been yesterday, and I don't see why a few stupid years should make old frierias so horribly stiff with one another. Did you ever in your life call me Miss Fitzgerald before?' I laughed. 'No; it was something much shorter, wasn't it? And then you didn't call me Mister Willoughby.' 'Well, you began it. Any way, is it a bargain?' she said, leaning forward in her chair and getting the range of me with those beautiful eyes of hers. 'We are going to begin again where we left off. I believe I was howling at the time of your going away, so we shall have to leave something out. But the- terms are that I'm to call you Jack as before. And you can call me what you like—it will be so much more comfortable. Is that agreed? And so we shook hands upon it,which in itself was so pleasant a process that I suppose pure mischief tempted me to add as I did so that there was danger in stirring memory too deeply, or it might remind us that handshaking between us was a formality which had no precedent to go upon. Vaguely as I turned the sentence, Kit's conscience was sufficiently awake to send a little blush to her cheek, but she only said she thought old memories very sweet, which I thought additionally charming of her. Never before had I passed so pleasant an evening. The old people, full of kindly memories of my former visits, treated me as a long lost son. Jim and Kit both tried to spoil me, while they dragged from me by deirrees a history of my doings since we parted, and made me talk of Indian frontier fights, when I would willingly have forgotten them in the midst of so much happiness. It was late, therefore, when the ladies retired to rest, and Jim and I went for a final peg ere we followed their example. . For this we retreated to Jim s own particular den, a comfortable little snuggery adjoining his bedroom. Here were stored all his pet possessions, pictures from his rooms at Christ Church, trophies of athletic prowess in «=*ho shape of numerous

silver mugs, portrait groups and photos of many old chums of earlier days, who had been known to' us both.

Mingled with these I noticed three or four of the dangerous sex. There were two charming ones of Kit, and, which caused me much less satisfaction, as many as three of another very pretty lady, a stranger to me, but of whom I had already remarked other representations about the house. First and foremost was a painting hanging in the dining-room among the older portraits, and I recollected a large photo by Mendleson on an easel in the drawing-room. The discovery had a disquieting effect. 'Now then, what are you prying after, you confounded old feirret?' exclaimed Jim, placing a box of manillas on the table. 'Come and sit down and talk. If you stand glaring at Kit any longer in that savage way, I'll tell her in the moaning—see if I don't.'

'Look here, Jim,' I retorted, with some severity, 'it's all very well for you to chaff, but I should like to know what you want with three photographs of the same lady in your quarters. Single portraits may be safe enoug-h, but duplicates are dangerous. What does it mean, sir?—out with it.'

Jim, who was lighting a cigar, burst into a loutt laugh. Winking into a chair close by, he contmued to roar. Nevertheless, I didn't, like the ring- of it. There was a false note somewhere which jarred upon me. Then, suddenly ceasing his laughter, he cried, with an attempt to appear intensely tickled — 'Why, you silly old juggins, that's my aunt. Whatever are you thinking about?' 'I hope, it is,' I observed. 'I was not aware you possessed an aunt of such youth and beauty. She was rather a. shock.' 'She'd be sorry to hear that,' he laug-hed. But, of course, you couldn't be expected to know everything.' I began to feel that I did not. 'Now, to begin the family history with the illustrations,' he continued, throwing, across a photograph of a fantastically grouped picnic party. 'Thereby hangs another tale you have not yet been told. See that fellow with his cap on one side of hijs head, holding Kitty by the hand on the left of the group?' Neither the look of the man in question nor the familiarity of his attitude struck me very favourably. 'Looks a harmless lunatic,' I commented disapprovingly.

'Oh, he's not a bad sort in his way, is the Hon. Bertie Wimpole. Perhaps that's why he's so keen about becoming my brother-in-law. We've known him some time now, and his gov, Lord Corbury, has a fine place about six miles from here. By most people he is regarded as a great parti.'

How could I g-uess that Wimpole was a red herring- drawn across another trail? I was only conscious of a rising resentment ag-ainst one more of these matrimonial conspirators against lay happiness, This time of the male sex, to be sure. But then Kit was as dear an old chum as any, and if she went —well, I felt I'd go and be a fakir in the Himalayas, or something equally blaze. However, after pausing to glare somewhat glumly into the fire, all I remarked was,

'And Mistress Kit, how does she regard the matter?' I don't know if Jim imagined he was doing a little thought reading, but as I looked up he was regarding me from the depths of his" armchair with a sort of introspective, glance about his screwed up eyes, a slight smile radiating to the corners of his mouth from the cigar between his teeth in the centre.

'Oh, I fancy she likes him,' he replied. 'She would have all a girl could want from a worldly point of view, and, of co.urse, we must remember that marriage is much more the natural corollary of a woman's existance than of a man's —like yov. or me, for instance.'

'Bother it, yes,' I responded recklessly. 'For me, however, it has been a : sort of abyss, that has swallowed up nearly every old association I ever had, and I bear it no goodwill."

'Now, Jack,' returned Jim in 'more serious tones, 'I'm afraid you'ye got a bit of a dog in the" manger. You'd made all your pals old maids and bachelors if you bad your way. They may, no doubt, all love you very much; but just think, it's rather hard on the girls, for instance. You won't many 'em yourself, and you'd like to stop every other fellow doing so. You know I believe celibacy to be a great and grand thing, but it should help you to contemplate with philosophy the prospect of splendid isolation at last. I fear discontent or repining would look too much like a disbelief in your creed. Kit is a dear old girl, and I'll be awfully sorry when she goes, and go she's bound to some day. But, there, cheer up, old man, when ?all is lost you'll always have me to fall back on.' . It was all very well. • , 111. A fortnight sped delightfully and brought us within two days of Christmas. The frost had stopped the hounds, so Jim and I took to our guns, and Kit, who could stand any amount of exertion, generally came with us. But latterly Jim began to have a terrible lot of business about the estate, and couldn't often, turn out. Accordingly, Kit and I made expeditions alone. I couldn't expect him to neglect his vaork, of course, but it was entirely his fault if I began to miss him less than I felt I should his sister if she; were carried off by that ass Wimpole, or some other interloper. Separated or not, Jim and I had always stuck together in the old days, but he ough-t to have realised that Kit's companionship had grown since her short petticoat days into a serious rivalry if he still expected the same devotion from me. Of course this was all part of a delusion and a snare, from which in due time there was to be an awakening, but which, when' it came, was to leave me not discontented. Meanwhile, I didn't swing Kit any more, as the ropes had long since come down from the old tree; neither did I throw her up to catch apples in the orchard. But to have this symmetrically young . piece of womanhood for my daily companion, to hear my name fall familiarly from such pretty lips, was more than compensation "for the lost joys of childhood. The only note of discord was the growing thought that it would all soon be over. That I could not enjoy such a monopoly for ever; that when my lease ended I must say good-bye. Jim might or not stick to celibacy; but, as he said, Kit would doubtless marry, and our happy triad would come to an. end for evermore. I began, to hate tbe man ,who was to work

all this mischief, and Mr Bertie Wimpole, whose visits were persistent about this time, did not find he made much progress in my good graces. In fact, there is no doubt, I was guilty of a little irritation just now, for the interloper rode over twice and had an innings with Babs, when I particularly wanted her.

One night, I am conscious, I was unusually surly. We had been for a long bike ride, and while Wimpole had" paired off with Kit Jim kept me behind with him the whole of the afternoon. In proportion as I grew less companionable the more Jim's spirits seemed to rise, and it looked to me uncommonly" like a conspiracy in favour of the Hon. Bertie. ■

'Of course, you know yom- own affairs best,' I said, 'but it seems to me a beastly shame to let such a chap as that clear off with a splendid girl like Kitty. Hang" me, if it isn't.' 'Well, old man, there's one way to get rid of him for good and all,' laug-hed .Jimmy, as he left me for the night. 'Let's have it then, for goodness sake,' I demanded eagerly, sitting up in bed. 'Cut him out!' with which partingr shot he bolted and left me to my own reflections. IV. My heart gave a jump into my mouth as I sat up gazing blankly at the door by which my friend had disappeared. Whatever did Jim mean? Was he actually serious in suggesting a measure so much at variance with all our joint professions? For some time. I lay aAvakc and watched the play of the firelight on the walls and ceiling, while all the time Jim's parting jest acquired a more sober appearance from '"the undoubted seriousness of the. situation. The more I reflected the more I begen to realise how circumstances might alter cases. Even the wind howling over the bleak country without, and the snow drifting against the window panes, seemed to add strength to the idea, through, a sense of isolation from the world which they created. It was an isolation I was well contented with, but now the world was threatening to invade our little circle and steal away all of its magic charm.

And then I fell asleep, and dreamed that it was Christmas Day, and that we were all walking across the fields to the little church at Daring. Whereupon things seemed to resolve themselves into a wedding service, in which Wimpole suddenly appeared dragging Kitty towards the altar, while Jim, who marched behind, made a grimace at me, and said, 'There's a. chance for srou5 rou yet, you old juggins. Look sharp, or you'll be too late.'

Then I thought I stepped forward and touched Kit on the shoulder, and in a trice we were out in the park without anyone seeming to notice it. Away we went over a sort of half English, half Indian landscape, our steed, an enormous elephant, seeming to fly every obstacle, while * endless laughter sounded from behind. Somehow my late scruples had completely vanished. Joy! Kit was' going to marry me instead of that fool Wimpole. And when Jim all at once came past us in a tikka gurry with his beautiful aunt, who I knew was Mrs Jack all the time, I laughed out in his face.

Upon that everything faded away, and I opened my eyes to find a frosty sun was shining" through the windows and that someone was knocking at my door. . .

It was not an ordinary matutinal knock, such as might herald the- arrival of the man with our hot water, but a continued tapping which never left off, while for a moment I strove to realise the rronnal ( condition of things. At my answering shout the door at once came open, and, to my great surprise, a little curly-headed fellow in tiny pink pyjamas trotted up to my bedside, and solemnly inspected me., This was not all, for he was immediately followed by a diminutive maiden, in similarly coloured night gear, who shouldered a big doll, and seemed a little less confident of her reception.

'Hulloa, old man,' I exclaimed with a laugh, 'who are you, and what's your name?' I had never heard of any children at Daring, and much wondered who these two lovely little atoms could be.

'My name is Jacky, and this is Mandy, and please will 'oo forgive papa?' pfetitioned the curly-headed mite, looking up at me with his big blue eyes.

'Ess, will 'oo forgive papa?' shyly echoed the little maid, holding on to her brother's waistband behind.

I am very fond of youngsters, and these were specially charming, yet I was mystified.

'But I don't knotr vrho your papa is, my darlings,' -I replied, ;and has he been very naughty?'

'Vewy naughty I fink,' nodded the little spokesman with serious wide open eyes. 'Cos, cos, when we saw 'oo wiv Aunty Kit 'esterday papa said 'oo would be vewy cross wiv him if 'oo saw me and Maudy. But 'oo won't be cross, will 'oo? Papa says he touldn't help it,' pleaded Jacky, and encouraged by my smiling face, he boldly clambered up on to my bed, and putting his arms round my neck clinched the matter at once with a little kiss upon my nose. > I laughed outright, and little Maud, evidently thinking I was ho longer dangerous, at once struggled to reach the same point of vantage as her brother'

In a moment I saw it all, and oh, what an arrant traitor Jim had been, I thought, as I looked smilingly down at the two jolly little evidences of liis treachery on either side of me, who both regarded the whole thing with the utmost satisfaction.

Strange to say, 1 felt none of that savage resentment such a discovery would have occasioned a few weeks before. It may have been the lingering influence of my dream, for at times they exert a curious after-effect upon the mind. But in that moment I thought I recognised a new meaning in much of Jim's behaviour for the last fortnight. His constant abandonment of Kit and me to our own devices, on the plea of business, culminating in his laughing suggestion last night, mrvv appeared in the light of an attempt to trip me into acquiescence through my own weakness, and yet, although I thought of all this, with au arm round each of the cosy little bodies on either side of me, I felt strongly inclined to laugh with the plotters. It was curious.. 'Where is your papa now, Jacky?' I inquired in a low voice. 'Papa,' he whispered, pointing to the door with a roguish smile of betrayal, 'is out dare.'

'Come in you old renegade,' I shouted. 'A nice apostle of celibacy you I continued, while .the two cvi-

dences for the prosecution laughed and clapped their hands as their guilty parent burst into the room with a penitential sort of grin on his face.

'Oh, Jim, Jim! I suppose your "at;nt" is partly responsible for this, jon old villain?'

'Yes, Jack; I confess everything. She came back with the nippers yesterday, while we were all away. It was her idea to get them to plead for us, and she'll be awfully glad to hear you're taken it like a brick, for, to tell you the truth, we were all a bit frightened of you, you old bear.'

'The old order changeth, and giveth place to the new,' I murrnure*d, looking down at the tiny mites by my side.

• 'But surely, Jack,' broke in Jim, eagerly, "you won't say the new is so very bad after all, old chap, with these two little bits to play with; and a darling girl, who belongs to you and to nobody else, will you? It is a pleasanter stage, I can promise you, on the road to the end of all things than your splendid isolation, and, as Tom Hall says, I've "seed no reason to be sorry for it." ' How could I gainsay him —even had I felt so inclined—with my two little vanquishers on cither side of me? Accordingly I resolved to make a virtue of necessity, and to accept all the credit I could get for extreme amiability under stress of great provocation, which, strange to say, I felt absolutely nothing of. On the contrary, I experienced a sort. of elasticity of spirit at this last desertion of my very oldest friend. But no sooner had Jim conveyed his two 'bits,' as he called them, from the room, which they only left after the stoutest resistance, than my mind reverted gaily to the absolute necessity of spoiling Mr Bertie Wimpole's little game without delay. Of course, it ail depended on Babs' view of the matter, a contingency of which the reader may think I have been too little regardful. But the truth is, as 1 saw more clearly afterwards, that the changing- demeanour of my little girl, as the time slipped away,, was as active an influence as any in the process of my conversion. During the days we had passed together there had been little betrayals of eye and tongue, which told again would seem too trivial, but which taught me to recognise in her the dawning of a sweet apprehension, and now emboldened me to think well of my chances. That morning I found a letter from India on the breakfast table, which helped me to hurry matters to a crisis. V. 'I say, Jae*k, I believe .it's going to snow hard. Do you think such an Indian as you ought to venture?' laughed Kitty. < 'A blizzard is not going to stop me this morning, Kit,' i responded very quietly, helping to fasten one of the gloves she held put to me. I was conscious she flashed a little glance at my face as I busied myself with her hand.

There was a glint of sunshine in spite of the dun clouds as we started for the village church. Kit had to p-ut a few finishing touches to the decorations and attend a choir practice, into which I had also been impressed for the occasion. Several things combkied to make me serious that morning. I knew what Wimpole was up to, that one mori&,.s!tep was impending towards the completion oil ray isolation. Kit, as she wtriked by my side, was looking as seductive as such a pretty piece of womanhood possibly could, with her fur collar half way up her cheeks, which were slightly flushed by the wintry air. And there in the pocket of my Norfolk jacket was the. Indian letter containing an intimation that an important staff billet which I had been seeking could be mine if I returned without delay'to the East. A little while back this would have been welcome news, but now it oppressed me like a heavy weight. From one point of view it would be an excellent city of refuge for the deserted bachelor. From another, it meant an almost immediate abandonment of all the pleasant old associations which had regathered themselves around me, and, although they had taken new form, were, it seemed, endeavouring- to draw me after them. I determined to ask Kitty's advice as \«» walked home.

So we finished, the holly and ivy decorations and the choir practice.

Big white flakes were falling from the wintry sky as we started on our homeward way. For some few moments we walked in silence, while I thought how on earth I should lead off. Then I plunged and told her of the Indian letter, which summoned me to return to Peshawur.

Her eyes bore an anxious expression as she looked quickly into my face. 'You don't, mean it, Jack, do you?' she asked with just a littla tremble in her tones. 'Must you really go? Are you tired of us already, or can't you, after all, make up your mijid to forgive poor Jim for being married? You see, Jack, it can't be as though we were kiddies always,' she added, gazing meditatively ahead. 'Weil, Kitty, suppose I say I refuse this appointment, and stay on, I want to know what Inhere is left here for me,' I replied, bending forward to look into her face, which at once began to blush very prettily. 'I —l think that depends on yourself, Jack,' murmured Kit, lowering her head, partly to escajie the snow, which was now driving in our faces, and partly, perhaps to hide hers from me, for, in the words of her pretty confession afterwards, 'She knew it was coming, and felt bashful.'

'Well, look here, Kitty,' I said, slipping my arm through hers, 'it is like, this, dear. It shall rest with you* whether I take this billet or no. Jim vowed he'd always stand by me, but he has gone his own way, and of course doesn't deserve any further consideration. You are the only comrade I have left, and I simply can't stand, the idea of losing you, old girl, in the same way. You don't know how fond I am of you, Kit, and if I am to stay I shall want you to say you'll be Mrs Jack Willoughby. If I go now it must be for good, and aIL Which is it to be dear?' I had got it put somehow, and as we reached the gate leading into the park I stopped short, A veil of snow was sweeping down over the desolate landscape, and it might not have been an ideal place for a proposal, but Babs didn't keep me

long. 'Don't go away, Jack, don't go away any more,' she said, placing both her little hands in mine. 'If you leave us now I—l don't know what I should do.'

There was a faint smile on her lips, but strange to say, in her eyes tears were glistening. . •W.hat's the matter, Babs darling! I believe you're crying,' I said, as I put my arms around her. 'Oh, I don't know, Jackj^ I'm very happy, that's all.' So the old order was altogether don©

away, and I who had been its latest champion look back at it still with many a kindly memory of all the jolly days of youth and close comradeship. But, alas! they endure too short a while, and if a man is wise he will be careful to exchange them, while there is yet time, for that dearer and more abiding- fellowship which shall outlast to the end of time the dust and ashes' of all slighter joys.