"No Gran," says Jemmy, still serious; "once upon a time when the French
drank wine."

Again I glanced at the Major, and the Major glanced at me.

"In short, Gran and godfather," says Jemmy, looking up, "the date is this
time, and I'm going to tell you Mr. Edson's story."

The flutter that it threw me into. The change of colour on the part of
the Major!

"That is to say, you understand," our bright-eyed boy says, "I am going
to give you my version of it. I shall not ask whether it's right or not,
firstly because you said you knew very little about it, Gran, and
secondly because what little you did know was a secret."

I folded my hands in my lap and I never took my eyes off Jemmy as he went
running on.

"The unfortunate gentleman" Jemmy commences, "who is the subject of our
present narrative was the son of Somebody, and was born Somewhere, and
chose a profession Somehow. It is not with those parts of his career
that we have to deal; but with his early attachment to a young and
beautiful lady."

I thought I should have dropped. I durstn't look at the Major; but I
know what his state was, without looking at him.

"The father of our ill-starred hero" says Jemmy, copying as it seemed to
me the style of some of his story-books, "was a worldly man who