of a troop of soldiers, and winning laurels on all sides by his
bravery and address.

The Squire's voice had sunk into the silence of exhaustion. He had
closed his eyes, and only opened them again after a long interval.
Their glance met that of young Tom, and the father seemed to read
something of what was passing in his mind.

"Tom, lad," he said feebly, reaching forth his hand and trying to
grasp the great horny fist of his son, "strive to be humble. Think
not too well of thyself. Seek counsel from God in all things. Be
not wise in thine own eyes. If thou art self willed, vain, and
headstrong, grief and pain will be thy lot. Seek first the kingdom
of heaven and its righteousness--"

But here the voice failed; and Tom, his quick nature touched and
sobered, rose hastily, and, with a muttered promise of quick
return, threw himself out of the room, as though afraid to trust
himself there longer. He was such a stranger to keen emotion, that
he fled from before it with a sense of dread.

The wife came back to her husband's bedside. He looked into her
face and said, faintly:

"The lad hath yet a warm heart."

"I have always felt that," she answered quickly. "But oh, my
husband, why send him forth to the perils of war?"

"In the hope that the stern discipline of a soldier's life may fit