I felt that I ought to write to my uncles and cousins, and I consulted

Mrs Beeton about it.

Mrs Beeton put her head on one side and tried how far she could get her

arm down the black worsted stocking she was darning, looking at me

meditatively the while.

"Well, do you know," she said, "if I were you, my dear, I would write;

for it do seem strange to leave you here, as I may say, all alone."

"Then I will write," I said. "I want to know what I am going to be."

"Oh! I should be a soldier, like your dear pa was, if I were you," she

said; "and I'd go into a regiment where they wore blue and silver-blue

and silver always looks so well."

"I don't want to be a soldier," I said rather sadly, for my fancy did at

one time go strongly in that direction; but it did not seem so very long

since the news came that my poor father had been killed in a skirmish

with the Indians; and I remembered how my poor mother had thrown her

arms round my neck and sobbed, and made me promise that I would never

think of being a soldier. And then it seemed as if after that news she

had gradually drooped and faded, just as a flower might upon its stalk,

till two years had gone by, and then all happened as I have related to

you, and I was left pretty well alone in the world.

"I'm sorry you don't want to be a soldier," said Mrs Beeton, looking at

me through her glasses, with her head a little more on one side. "If I

had been a young gentleman I should have been a horse-soldier. I

wouldn't be a sailor if I was you, sir."

"Why not?" I said.

"Because they do smell so of tar, and they're so rough and boisterous."

"I think I shall be a gardener," I said.

"A what?"

"A gardener."

"My dear boy!" she cried in horror, "whatever put that in your head?

Why, you couldn't be anything worse. There!--I do declare you startled

me so I've stuck the needle right into my finger, and it bleeds!"

We had many arguments about the matter while I was waiting for answers

to my letters, for no one came down to see me.

Uncle Thomas said he was going to see about my being put in a good

public school, but there was no hurry; and perhaps it would be better to

wait and see what Uncle Johnson meant to do, for he should not like to

offend him, as he was much better off, and it might be doing me harm.

Uncle Johnson wrote a very short letter, saying that I had better write

to my Uncle Frederick.




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