"But we shall meet afterwards," she said,
still on her knees, and holding his hands,
"and you must promise to come and stay with
me."

"And with him?" asked the boy, with a
knowing look in his eye. "He will be the
husband—and if he does not choose——"

"But I do choose, and always will
choose—f you will do us the honour, that is.
Recollect, it is an engagement; you come very
soon; I choose. Besides, whatever Lucy chooses
I choose."

Young Fred took the hand that was held out
to him, and shook it.

"The only thing," he said confidently, "is
papa. He is very particular about my going
anywhere by myself—that is, he does not wish
that I should go anywhere without him. And
I don't wish. When you come to know papa,
you will like him very much. We go everywhere
together. We have travelled an immense
deal together, papa, and I, and Andy."

"And who is Andy, dear?" said Lucy, still
on the carpet; " tell me."

"Bless me!" said the little fellow. "Don't
you know Andy? He is our servant—our
own servant"—in a confidential tone—"He
came with poor dear mamma from Ireland (I
never saw mamma that I can remember), and
papa and I have agreed that we are never to
part with Andy. Papa talks a great deal to
him, but he does not like my talking
much to him, as papa says I might learn to
speak like Andy, who has a strong brogue.
But papa says that should make no difference in
his character, because he is the most faithful and
trustworthy man that ever lived. And I assure
you I feel it a good deal, not talking to Andy,
because I know he is good. And papa means,
when Andy gets old and lame, to pension him
off; and, when I am grown up, I shall pension
him too; for I like Andy, and should wish to
be kind to him; and when you come to know
him, you will like him too."

They listened to these little assurances with
great pleasure, the little man was so earnest
and assured. Captain Hallam looked across to
Lucy with delight.

"Give me a kiss, you darling!" she said. "I
like you as if I had known you from a child."

The little man put forward his cheek with
great dignity.

"And I like you," he said; "and when he
said you were the fairest young lady in the world,
I did not mean to deny it—indeed no. I should
not be so unpolite—no, indeed."

"Give me another kiss, you pet!" said Lucy,
in great delight.

Now was heard a gentle voice calling, from
the side of the room: "Fred! Fred! take care
you are not talking too much, and tiring our
friends."

He walked over himself. The little man
went to meet him, and took his larger hand.

"Yes, papa. Come and talk—do. Oh!"—
to the little circle—"he can talk, papa can;
you'll be dee-lighted."

They all smiled.

"This little fellow and I," said Colonel
Howard, in his gentle half-apologetic voice,
"have been great companions. We have
travelled and seen a great many things together—
have we not, little man?"

"Yes, papa," said the little man, looking up
at him; "and we are to see the world regularly
when I get bigger—he has promised me—
and I am never to go to school."

"Can you sing or play?" said Lucy.

"No, no," said Colonel Howard, a little
hastily; "he will only tire you."

"Just as papa pleases," said the little man,
with a bow. "Some people like my singing;
others, as papa says, get tired."

"Nonsense!" cried the captain, eagerly.
"Do sing for us; we shall take it as a great
favour."

"Do, dear," said Lucy.

"Would you like it, really?" asked the little
man.

"Indeed we all would, and I particularly."

"Well, papa; may I?"

"As these ladies are so kind," said the
colonel, looking round doubtfully; and lie
walked slowly back towards the fire, and sat
down by his cousin.

Without the least shyness, the little man
looked round on all the company, and began a
French chanson—CADET ROUSSEL—with a
burden:

"Ah! ça! oui! vraiment!
Cadet Roussel a trois enfans,"

and which he sang with the greatest seriousness.
There was great applause when he had
finished.

"Oh, I can sing other things," he said, "in
quite a different style. There was one song
which Andy taught me; but," he added, with
sudden earnestness, "that was long before papa
wished that I should not speak so much to him
—it was indeed—though papa might not like
it on that account. But, oh! it is such a very
funny Irish song; and if you heard Andy sing
it——"

Lucy had run over to the fireside with the
request. She was whispering to Colonel
Howard.

"You won't refuse me? Let the dear boy
sing. He is getting quite at home with us all.
Do let him—Andy's song—do!"

Colonel Howard, half smiling, half grave, made
a protest. "For shame, little man," he said;
"he picks up all these low songs; though, indeed,"
he added, correcting himself, "he never
sings them without consulting papa. Well, yes,
this once more, as these ladies and gentlemen
are so kind as to call for it."

Holding Lucy's hand, with his knee on
the sofa, and a steady serious look into the
faces of all the company, he struck into
"MULLIGAN'S WEDDIN'," in which his little
clear pipe, trying to struggle conscientiously
with the Irish patois and brogue, and his
perfect and earnest seriousness, had the most
curious effect: