were an old man to wander off alone, and there's allays evil-doers round
about for the unprotected."

The boys listened to these and similar conjectures with frightened eyes;
then Dudley whispered,

"I believe he is in his cave, Roy; we'll go and look for him. Only don't
tell these women about it, because he hasn't told anybody but us where
it is."

They left the shop and started for the hills, but Roy's lameness made
progress very slow.

At last he stopped, and struggling to hide his disappointment said,
"You'll have to go on without me, Dudley. I only keep you back. This old
leg of mine always comes in the way."

Dudley stopped to consider. "It's a very long way, but we must get there
somehow. Hulloo, here's just the thing."

They had stopped at a small inn at the outskirts of the village; and
tied to the drinking trough outside, was a rough pony and cart whose
owner was enjoying himself in the tap room with his friends.

"Jump in, Roy. It's to save old Principle, and anybody would be glad to
lend his cart for that."

Roy was not long in acting upon this advice. The pony trotted forward
briskly, and the boys would have thoroughly enjoyed this escapade,
except for the fears of their friend's safety.

"If anything has happened to him, the village will go to the dogs!" Roy
asserted, emphatically; "old Hal said the other day he was worth a
couple of parsons. When I grow up, I think I shall try and be like him.
I shall give good advice to everybody without ever scolding them, that
is what he does."

"Do you think he is dead?" asked Dudley, "I don't think he can be. Why
it was only the day before yesterday we saw him, and he was as well as
we are."

It seemed a long time before they reached the cave; the hills were steep
and the pony rather old, and more than once Dudley felt inclined to run
forward on his own two legs. Roy at last suggested this.

"I can drive up after you as fast as I can; and if you find him you
holloa to me."

So Dudley jumped out and was soon lost to sight behind the bushes and
hollows that fringed the hills.

Roy drove on busily thinking, and wondering if they had done wisely to
take the matter into their own hands, and come off alone as they had
done.

When he at length reached the cave Dudley came to meet him with a
puzzled face.

"Something has happened, Roy. I can't get into it very far; there's a
lot of earth tumbled down and I can't move it."

"Then old Principle is buried alive!" cried Roy in terror. "Quick,
Dudley, let us dig him out."

Dudley seemed quite helpless.

"I've no spade, and there's no place near to get one. I wish we hadn't
come alone."

This was a dilemma, but Roy would not be overcome by it.

"Let us look about for his tools; he always brings them up with him.
Isn't there enough room for me to get in, Dudley?"

Dudley shook his head, and both boys approached the entrance. There had
indeed been a serious landslip, and it was impossible to remove the
great blocks of stone and earth that had fallen without proper tools;
and though they searched for some traces of old Principle, not a thing
belonging to him could they find.

"Perhaps he may not be here."

"I believe he is," maintained Roy; "and we must be as quick as ever we
can. Dudley you go back in the cart and get some men to come and help. I
will stay here. How I wish we hadn't come alone!"

Left by himself, Roy did not sit down and do nothing. Clambering all
amongst the fallen earth and stone, he eagerly searched for some
crevice or opening; and at last high up in the ravine he found one. Then
lying down flat on the ground he put his mouth to the hole. "Old
Principle! Hi! Old Principle! Are you there?"

It was not fancy that a muffled voice came up to him--

"Help! I'm here!"

That gave Roy fresh strength. Eagerly he tore aside brambles and stones
with small thought of his scratched, bruised hands, and at last had the
satisfaction of viewing a hole big enough to drop his slim little body
through. Then he called again,

"Old Principle, I'm coming down from the top. Are you hurt? Can you tell
me if it is far to fall?"

And this time old Principle's voice sounded clearer:

"God help you, laddie! For I can't help you or myself. No it is not a
very big drop from where you are."

For one moment Roy looked at the dark chasm below him with hesitation,
then he murmured to himself, "If I break my other leg, I must get to
him--poor old Principle."

And then carefully and cautiously he let himself down, clinging with his
hands to a stout twig of mountain ash that bent and swayed across the
crevice with his weight.

Another moment and leaving go of the friendly branch, he dropped on damp
fresh soil, and found himself in almost total darkness. Then as his eyes
got more accustomed to it, he saw the prostrate form of old Principle
only a yard or two away from him. The old man was breathing heavily, and
his legs were completely buried under fallen earth.

"Is it Master Roy?" he said, as Roy came over and took hold of his hand;
"ay, you shouldn't have imprisoned yourself with me, laddie--I didn't
rightly think of what you were doing--I'm--I'm in such pain!"

"Are you very hurt? Oh, dear, what can I do? I can't lift you. Are your
legs broken?"

"I don't rightly know. If you could shift a little of the earth off, may
be it would ease me!"

Roy looked round and then delightedly seized hold of a small shovel.

"Your shovel is here. I'll do it," he said, cheerfully, and then to work
he went. The soil was fortunately not heavy to remove, but there was a
great quantity of it before poor old Principle's legs were liberated.
Roy toiled on, hot and breathless, longing that help should come, his
own fatigue forgotten in his pity for the helpless old man.

"Can you lift yourself up, old Principle? I really think I've got the
earth off your legs--at least most of it!"

There was a struggle, then a groan.

"I'm afraid not, laddie. 'Tis the power that has quite gone out of them.
I'm fearing that old Principle will be never roaming the hills again,
but there 'tis the Lord's will, and He never do make mistakes."

"Do you think your legs are broken like mine were?"

"I can't rightly say. It has seemed a weary time since I lay here. Many
days and nights I suppose--and I'm longing for a drink, but thank the
Lord, He has sent you to me."

"It is only since yesterday that you have been lost. And Dudley has gone
back to get some men to come. I wish I could get you some water, but
there's none here, is there?"

"I am afraid not."

Silence fell on the pair, which was broken at last by,--

"'Tis a good principle to think of your mercies when trouble overtakes
you. It has whiled away the time here, and I can thank the Lord with all
my heart, that my head and hands are uninjured!"

"How did it happen?" asked Roy.

"I'm afraid I excavated too far and was in the midst of unearthing a
large boulder of stone when I remembered no more--it took me so sudden,
and when I came to life again I thought I was in my bed at home with a
ton's weight on my feet. 'Twas good of the Lord to give me air--that
crevice you came through has saved me."

"You said a long time ago you could mend anything but broken hearts, but
you can't mend broken legs, can you? Or you would have mended mine."

"Ay, ay, so I would, surely. No--the mender has turned into a breaker
this time, 'tis a good thing it's only himself that he has broken up."

A slight groan escaped him, and Roy softly stroked his face, a broken
sob escaping him.

"Oh, old Principle, how I wish I was strong, how I wish I could move
you! You aren't broken up! Don't say you are. Couldn't I help you to
roll over on your back, wouldn't that be better?"

After great effort this was partly accomplished, and then to Roy's
intense relief he heard voices above.

Running to the opening he shouted:

"Here we are! Help us out, or old Principle will die!"

But it was some time before the rescue could be accomplished. The
opening was small enough to let Roy through, but not old Principle, and
the boy refused to leave the old man. Pickaxes and shovels were set
heartily to work, and after half an hour's hard toil, the old man was
gently raised out of his dangerous position, and placed in the cart. Roy
was put in with him, and Dudley walked by the side in silence until they
reached the village. There was a great stir and excitement over their
return. Mrs. Selby and their aunt met the boys at the entrance of the
village, and Miss Bertram looked anxiously at Roy's little white set
face.

He could not be torn away from his old friend till he heard the doctor's
verdict, and it was a far more hopeful one than anybody had anticipated.

"It is a marvellous escape. Not a bone broken, but of course he is
terribly bruised and shaken, and very stiff."

"I'll sit with him till we can get a proper nurse," said good-natured
Mrs. Selby; "he seems to have no kith or kin belonging to him. It will
be a lesson to him, for life, I hope, and will put a stop to all this
delving and digging and unearthing what is best left alone. It only
fosters scepticism in the minds of the ignorant, and teaches them to
disbelieve their Bibles!"

Old Principle looked up with a smile after the doctor's visit.

"Is little Master Roy there?"

Roy pressed forward eagerly.

"I'm thinking, laddie, that you and Master Dudley have had a rare good
opportunity of saving a poor old man's life, and he is duly grateful to
you."

But Roy was very near tears.

"I'm so glad--so glad your legs aren't broken," he said, in a quivering
voice, "anything is better than being suddenly turned into a cripple!"

And then bending over him he kissed the furrowed brow, and crept out of
the room.




XIV


HEROES

Old Principle's accident was a great event in the village. The boys got
their fair share of praise in his rescue, but their grandmother did not
see it in such a favorable light.

"You ought never to have left your lessons without leave, or taken a
cart belonging to a stranger all unknown to him, or gone off alone
without telling any one about it. And you were shown the folly and
uselessness of such a proceeding by arriving on the scene and being
utterly unable to extricate him from his position. If children would
realize their weakness and foolishness more in these days, they would
develop into better men and women, but self-sufficiency and self-conceit
are signs of the times!"

Every day the boys went to see their friend, and even Mrs. Selby allowed
that they could be quiet and well-behaved in a sick room. It was a long
time before old Principle regained his health, and he seemed to have
grown much older and feebler since his accident; but his serenity of
spirit was undisturbed, and some of the neighbors who had before voted
him close and cranky, now offered to come and sit with him, and learned
many a lesson from his sickbed. When he was at last able to take his
place in the shop again, Roy's mind was at ease about him.

"I was so afraid he was going to die as long as he stayed in bed," he
confided to Dudley: "I hope no one will ever die that I like, it must be
such a dreadful thing to have them gone. I think I would rather die
first, wouldn't you?"

"We can't all die first," said matter-of-fact Dudley; "somebody must be
last."

"Well, I don't think I shall be," returned Roy, "that's the best of
being weak like I am."

But this assurance brought no comfort to Dudley.

A few more labored letters came from Rob, and then one that stirred the
boys' hearts after he had been about three months away from them. It was
to say that he was going out to India in a draft, and had been allowed
three days to come and say good-bye to his friends.

Roy was almost beside himself with excitement at the prospect of seeing
him again; and when the day came, he insisted upon going to the station
by himself to meet him. Dudley perched on the garden wall awaited their
coming.

Rob was certainly improved in appearance. He held himself up bravely,
but a softened light came into his eyes, as Roy, looking whiter and more
fragile than ever, flung himself into his arms, utterly regardless of
all onlookers.

"I'm right glad to see you, Master Roy," said Rob, in a husky voice.

"Oh, Rob, you look so splendid! And you've got to be quite a man! Come
on, I'm going to drive you home, and we shall be all by ourselves. Now
tell me, are you really and truly happy?"

Rob did not answer this question till he was in the trap being driven
homeward; then he said, slowly, "Yes, I'm thinking I like it first-rate,
but 'tis hard in many ways. 'Tis hard to keep straight and do the right,
when most seems to live the other way."

"But most of the soldiers aren't bad, are they?" questioned Roy with
startled eyes.

"They aren't out and out bad--just careless, I reckon, but old Principle
would say they're lacking in principle."

"And is it hard being a soldier? I suppose it must be a little. I came
across a text I thought would just fit you, Rob, the other day. 'Endure
hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.'"

Rob's eyes brightened. He seemed strangely older and graver in his ways,
yet when they drove up in sight of Dudley who slipped down over the
wall, and tumbled himself into the trap with them, he made the boys roar
with laughter with his funny incidents of barrack-room life.

The three days passed only too soon. Innumerable were the questions put
to the young soldier, and Roy's curiosity about a military life was
insatiable.

"Well," he said at last, "I don't think I should be strong enough to be
a soldier, but I'm awfully glad you're one, Rob. And now you've got your
chance in India of doing something grand and getting the Victoria Cross.
The opportunity has come to you, and Dudley and I can't get it, though
we've tried hard. But we have helped to send you out to India to do it,
Rob, so you won't fail us, will you? And then when you come back covered
with medals, you shall live with me and always dress in your uniform, so
we'll look forward and think of that!"

When Rob departed, he had quite a little party of friends to see him off
at the station. Old Hal, the gardener, Ted, the stable-boy, and old
Principle were there, and Miss Bertram and her nephews were with him to
the last.

"He's begun right, and he'll go on like it," announced old Principle,
with emphasis, as the train steamed out of the station, and Rob leaned
out of the window to wave a last farewell to his friends. "'Tis the
beginnin' of life that boys make such a mess of, as a rule!"

Roy's eyes were tearful as he watched the train disappear.

"I've given him to the Queen," he said, gravely, to his aunt; "and no
one can say I'm selfish, for I'd much rather have had him stay with me.
But as I can't do anything grand, he must do it for me!"

The day after Rob left them, the boys had an invitation to spend the day
with Roy's guardian, General Newton. He did not often ask them over to
see him, so it was considered a great treat, and they set off in high
spirits. The groom drove them over, and they were shown into the
general's study at once upon their arrival. He was not by himself;
another grey-haired gentleman was seated there smoking, and the boys
wondered at first who he was, but General Newton soon enlightened them.

"This is a very old chum of mine, boys, who was in my regiment with me
when I first enlisted; he has been a hero in his time, so if you make up
to him he will tell you some wonderful stories. Now, Manning, these boys
are smitten with the 'scarlet fever' at present, as a young friend of
theirs has just enlisted. Tell them something about the Crimea; you had
plenty of ghastly experiences there."

Colonel Manning laughed as he met the boys' admiring gaze, and before
long he was enchanting them by his reminiscences.

"Now will you tell us the very bravest thing that you ever saw any
soldier do?" demanded Roy, with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

Colonel Manning looked at his little auditor rather thoughtfully.

"I've seen a good many brave deeds done," he said, slowly; "but one
stands out in my memory above and beyond them all."

"Oh, do tell us."

"It was quite a young lad, a recruit that came to join our regiment when
we were in Malta. He was a fair, curly-headed boy, and seemed quite
frightened at the rough life and ways of his comrades. I happened to be
orderly officer one evening, and was going my rounds, when I passed one
of the barrack-rooms just before lights were out. It was in a low
building and the windows were open. The men were noisy, and the first
thing I heard was a volley of oaths from one of the oldest soldiers
there. The corporal in charge instead of reproving him, was joining in,
and there was a great dispute between a lot of them about some small
matter, when this young chap stood up with a flush on his cheeks.
'Comrades,' he cried; 'would any of you allow your mother to be called
evil names in the barrack-room?' His voice rang put so clearly that
there was a hush at once, and they turned to him in wonder. 'You know
you wouldn't,' he went on; 'and you are ill-treating the name of One who
is dearer and nearer to me than any mother--the best Friend I've got. I
tell you, I won't allow you to do it while I am in the room!' I remember
as I stood there and heard him, and saw the men utterly abashed before
the boy, I felt he had a courage that none of us could equal."

"Is that all?" asked Dudley, with disappointment in his tone.

"Did the men stop swearing?" asked Roy.

"As far as I can remember, they did. The corporal rebuked them, and
lights were put out, but that boy was braver than many a hero on the
battlefield."

The boys' faces fell.

"But that was not what we call a brave deed," said Roy, at length. "Of
course it was splendid of him, but it wouldn't get him the Victoria
Cross."

"No, only a crown of everlasting life, and a word of commendation from
the King of Kings," said the colonel, in a strangely quiet voice; but
Roy's expressive little face kindled at once, and he said no more. They
went into the dining-room to lunch soon, and the boys were too busy
enjoying the good things before them to talk much to their elders. After
it was over General Newton sent them out for a run in the garden. And
then when they came in, he asked them if they would like to come
upstairs to his old picture gallery.

"I am going to take my friend up, and you can come, too."

The boys were delighted; they had often heard of this gallery, but had
never been in it as General Newton kept it locked up, and very rarely
opened it.

"I have some gems amongst the portraits," he said to Colonel Manning as
he unlocked a door in the passage, and led them into a long dusky
corridor; "I will pull up the blinds and then we shall see. They are
mostly ancestors, but one or two are by master hands, and two or three
royal personages are amongst them."

The boys listened eagerly whilst their host pointed out one and another,
with now and then an anecdote connected with them.

"Look," said Roy, delightedly, "there's a fine soldier. He is quite
young, and yet what a lot of medals! and oh, General Newton, isn't that
the Victoria Cross on his coat?"

"Yes, my boy, he served his country well for such a youngster, he
fought in eight battles, and came home without a scratch, though he had
many hair-breadth escapes. In one battle he had two horses shot under
him, and he saved the colors on foot, though he was leading a cavalry
charge."

"He was a regular hero!" murmured the admiring boys.

"I don't think he was," said the general, drily. "He had plenty of dash
and go, but no moral courage. He came home after the wars were over, and
broke his mother's heart by becoming a drunkard and a gambler; and he
died an early death from drink and dissipation."

Roy looked very puzzled.

"I thought a brave man must be a good one, and brave and good to the end
of his life."

"A man can face the cannon's mouth better than a friend's ridicule,"
said General Newton; "the young soldier we were hearing about before
dinner had a nobler courage than this poor fellow here."

Roy said no more, but though he listened and looked, the rest of the
time they were in the gallery, his thoughts were with the hero of the
Victoria Cross. He ran back to have one more look at him before they
went downstairs, and gazed up at the bold, frank bearing, and the
laughing mouth of the soldier, with wistful pity in his brown eyes.

"You served your Queen and country, but I expect you left out God," he
said, in a whisper; then he ran on to overtake the others.

After an early tea the boys were packed up in the trap to come home.

"Drive home as quickly as you can," said the general to the groom, "for
rain is not far off, and it will not do to let Master Fitz Roy get a
soaking; he looks as if a breath of wind will blow him away."

"I do hate people talking about me like that," Roy confided to Dudley as
they set off at a brisk rate; "I might just as well be a girl. I often
wonder I wasn't born one for all the good that I shall do in the world."

"That's all stuff," said Dudley, indignantly; "you'll be an awfully
strong man I expect when you grow up, you see if you aren't!"

Roy shook his head, and was unusually silent for some time. They were
driving through the outskirts of a village when down came the rain. The
groom wrapped the boys up as well as he could, and was urging the horse
on, when it suddenly shied and came to a standstill. Looking down, the
groom saw a small child seated in the middle of the road, almost
miraculously preserved from the horse's hoofs.

"Well, here's a go," he muttered; "where on earth does it come from, we
don't want no delay in such a storm as this!"

The boys had sprung down at once from the trap, and were endeavoring to
drag the child away when it burst into roars of fright and anger.

"I want mummy--oh, mummy!"

It was a little girl between three and four. She had been placidly
nursing a doll in the middle of the road, and seemed perfectly oblivious
of wind and rain.

"Where do you live?" asked Roy, but the child only continued to wail for
its mother.

"Here, Master Roy, you'll be wet through. Come back, and let Master
Dudley hoist her up to me. We can't stop all day trying to find out
where she lives. We'll take her back with us for the time."

But this did not please Roy.

"No, we must find her mother; she must come from the village we have
passed. You wait there with the horse, Sanders, and we'll take her
back."

"Let Master Dudley do it, then," said Sanders, crossly, "and you get
into the trap again."

This also Roy refused to do.

"It's an opportunity, isn't it, Dudley? And look she has taken hold of
my hand; you run on in front and ask about her at the first cottage you
come to, and I'll bring her after you."

Sanders grumbled and growled, but the boys did not heed him. Happily the
mother of the child soon appeared, thanked them profusely, and Roy and
Dudley clambered up into the trap again, both wet through.

"You're a heedless, disobedient pair," said the wrathful Sanders, "and
if I'm blamed for your taking to your beds and gettin' rheumaticky fever
and inflammation of the lungs, it won't be my fault, and I shall tell
the missus so!"




XV


AN UNWELCOME PROPOSAL

Roy was not well for some time after this episode. He had a bad
bronchial attack, and was in the hands of his old nurse again.

"It do seem as if everything conspires to make you a delicate lad," she
said one day; "it beats me how you come through it as well as you do!
But 'tis mostly your thoughtless ways that leads you into trouble."

"I'm sorry," Roy said, cheerfully; "but I expect I'm stronger than I
look. I never shall be much of a fellow, I know; but even with my cork
leg I can do a good deal, can't I?"

"You're worth two of Master Dudley!" ejaculated the fond nurse, but this
assertion was of course questioned.

"I shall never be like Dudley, never! Not in looks, or strength, or
goodness. He is better than I am all round!"

Miss Bertram came into the room at this moment.

"Ah, nurse," she said, in her bright, brisk way; "he is like a cat,
isn't he? Has nine lives, I'm sure. There never was such a boy for
getting into scrapes. I'm in fear whenever he is out of our sight now
that he may never come back again."

"Now, Aunt Judy, you wouldn't have liked me not to have got out to that
baby?"

"I should like some one else to have done it."

"Yes, I suppose Dudley would have done it," and Roy's tone was a little
sad; "but you see I wanted to help. As he was saying to me this morning,
he will have many more chances than I when he gets bigger and goes out
to India to do good to people. I shall have to stop at home now, for I
shall never be able to ride, he will have all the big opportunities, and
I must be content with the little ones."

"You talk like a little old grandfather, sometimes," said Miss Bertram,
laughing, as she sat down beside him. "You must make the most of David
while he is with you, for I have heard from his stepfather this morning,
and he wishes him sent to school at once."

Roy's eyes opened wide.

"But I shall go too, shan't I, Aunt Judy?"

"I am afraid not just yet. You are not fit to rough it; besides we
couldn't lose both our boys!"

"But I must go if Dudley goes, I must!" and Roy's tone was passionate
now. "I won't have him go away from me--I've lost Rob, and that is bad
enough--You wouldn't take Dudley away from me, too, Aunt Judy!"

"Hush, hush, we will not talk any more about it now. He will not go
till after Easter, and that won't be here yet."

Miss Bertram was sorry she had broached the subject, when she saw Roy's
distress, and going downstairs sent Dudley up to play with him.

Later on when she was sitting with her mother in the drawing-room a
small head appeared. "May I come in, granny?"

It was Dudley, and his round and rosy face was unusually solemn.
Marching in he took up his position on the hearth-rug, his back to the
fire, and with his hands deep in his pockets, he turned his face rather
defiantly toward his grandmother.

"Granny, I'm not going to school without Roy."

"Hoighty-toity! What next, I wonder. Is that the way for little boys to
speak to their elders. You will do what you are told as long as you are
in my house, as your father did before you."

"It is your stepfather's wish," put in Miss Bertram; "you ought to be
willing to obey him."

"Not if he tells me to do something wrong. And I'm sure it would be
quite a wrong thing for me to go away from Roy. We have promised never
to leave each other till we grow up, and we don't mean to break our
promise. And, granny, I'm sure you don't like broken promises. Father
doesn't know about Roy, and he can't understand like I do, and it would
be very wrong of him if he took me away from Roy!"

Mrs. Bertram put on her glasses and inspected her little grandson with
searching eyes.

"That is a most disrespectful speech, Dudley. I shall of course uphold