him straight from heaven to be our deliverer. He has come to see papa, we ascertain later, and is even now closeted with him. I wonder how he will manage to so far smooth his ruffled plumes as to carry on any conversation that is not strictly vituperative?
We are all sitting together save Jack, when we hear his steps coming down the passage, and he enters and closes the door with a cheerful bang, that does not make us all bound on our seats as the bangs of a certain other person do. There is a peculiar look on Jack's face, a kind of knowing twinkle in his eye, a modest elation in his glance, that owes its origin, I am certain, to some bit of news that he has possessed himself of, and which he is secretly enjoying in its full relish before imparting it to us.
"News!" we all cry starting from our seats, "surely he cannot—cannot be—going away?"
Oh! those two delicious words, can any others in the whole dictionary contain such sweet music?
"I say," says Jack, vigorously repulsing the avalanche of female charms that threatens to overwhelm him, I can't tell you anything, can I, if you stifle me?"
"Go on! go on!" we all cry, withdrawing hastily from the oracle.
"Well," says Jack complacently surveying the row of open eyes, mouths, and ears, "he is going away" (shouts of delight); "he is going to-morrow" (fresh rejoicings); "and he is coming back next day" (howls of dissatisfaction). "Nevertheless there is one assuaging circumstance, he is going early, so we shall have one clear day in which to accomplish our deeds of darkness."
"Hurrah! I know what I shall do."
"You'll take me with you," I say, imploringly, "do."
"Can't," says Jack, briefly, "I shall go out shooting."
We all gasp; Jack with a gun in his hands! Oh, if the governor could but———
