Chapter One.

Just before Dinner.

Mark jumped up.

“You there, father! I did not hear you come in.”

Doctor Robertson, tutor, half rose from his seat by the glowing library fire.

“No, my boy, and I did not hear you come in.”

“Why, uncle, you have been sitting there listening!” cried Dean.

“To be sure I have. How could I help it, sir? I came in tired, and thought I would have a nap in my own chair till it was time to change for dinner, and you woke me up out of a pleasant dream which somehow shaped itself into climbing with an ice axe and nearly losing it. It was some time before I could make out whether I was really awake or dreaming still, and I lay listening and getting more and more interested in what the doctor described to you two stupid boys.”

“Oh, father, you shouldn’t have listened!” said Mark.

“What, sir!” cried Sir James Roche hotly. “And pray why shouldn’t I have listened?”

“Because—because—”

“Because—because! Well, go on, sir.”

“Well, Dr Robertson said something to us boys one day about what he called eavesdropping.”

“Tut, tut, sir!” cried the boy’s father irascibly. “You dare to tell me I was eavesdropping, when you three come in from your walk, and plump yourselves down at the end of the room and go on talking till you wake me up? How could I help being interested and sitting back listening to the doctor’s travels? Don’t I pay him to teach you boys a lot of his knowledge, and if by accident I hear some of what he says, haven’t I a right to it?”

“And you have heard all I have said, sir?” said the doctor, speaking as if he were moved.

“Yes, my dear sir, everything when once I was well awake, and very fine it was. Why, Mark—Dean—didn’t I suggest that I should like to hear some more?”

“Yes, uncle, you did,” said Dean; “but—”

“What, sir? Are you siding with Mark, and going to accuse your uncle of being an eavesdropper?”

“No, uncle, but—”

“Hang your buts, you impudent young dog! But—but—”

“You said hang buts, uncle.”

“Bah! Pooh! Well, really, doctor, I suppose I ought to have spoken when I woke up, and put you all on your guard in case you might have— Here, what does the old proverb say? ‘Listeners never hear any good of themselves.’ Of course you might have said—you, Mark, boy, I mean—said that I was a stingy old fellow and didn’t allow you enough pocket money.”

“Well, I don’t think you do, father,” cried Mark; “but I shouldn’t have said so.”

“Good boy! But I do allow you, sir, twice as much as my father used to allow me when I was your age. And then Dean might have followed it up by talking about my temper.”

“I shouldn’t, uncle.”

“Ah, I don’t know, sir. I am what Mrs Blinks calls a bit trying when my gout’s bad. And then I might have heard the doctor say—oh, no, he would say nothing but what would come from a gentleman.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the doctor, as he stood erect now, and his words were followed by a low sigh as if of satisfaction.

“Yes, I ought to have spoken, boys,” continued the baronet, “but you mustn’t set it down as being dishonourable. Why, you ought to have heard me chuckling softly as I lay back there in the darkness, listening. Why, Robertson, this isn’t flattery; you have a most astounding memory, and I must compliment you upon the way in which you retain things and then give them out again so that they seem to be life-like and real. And so you have always had a great desire to be a traveller?”

“Always, sir,” said the doctor gravely.

“Hah! And fate has so arranged it that you were to be a student instead, and doomed you to pass your existence drumming learning into the brains of a couple of the stupidest, wooden-headed boys I know.”

“Oh, I say, dad, only one! I am sharp enough; you said so yourself; and poor old Dozey can’t help being such a sleepy-headed fellow.”

“Eh? What’s that?” cried Sir James. “You will show him whether you are sleepy-headed when you get up into your room!”

“Then he shouldn’t say such things, uncle.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Sir James. “But really, my dear Robertson, you have taken me quite by surprise. You would like to travel?”

“I must confess I should, Sir James; but pray don’t give me the credit of being discontented with my lot. The three years that I have passed at the manor, gladdened as they have been by your consideration and perfect trust, have been happy ones to me.”

“Oh, tut, nonsense, my dear sir! When you came here I laid down the law to myself that for the first month I would lie low, as the Yankees call it, and see what sort of a fellow you were; and at the end of that time I was perfectly satisfied with my good fortune in obtaining your services. I said to myself, ‘The doctor’s a high-class University man, and he can turn those two boys into English gentlemen—manly gentlemen—far better than I can. He will have a terribly hard job to lick the young cubs and shape them properly, so don’t interfere.’ And I haven’t, have I, doctor? No—no, don’t say anything. I know what it would be, so hold your tongue. I will say, though, here in the darkness so as to spare the boys, doctor, that I think it’s a pity that besides the metaphorical licking that the old bears are said to use to shape their cubs, I did not begin by giving you the power to give them now and then what schoolboys call ‘the real’ licking.”

“You don’t, father,” said Mark, laughing merrily. “You have always said that boys can be well brought up without blows.”

“Hear, hear,” said the doctor softly.

“But I am afraid it was very weak of me,” said Sir James. “A good thrashing, sir, now and then, would have made you less impudent.”

“You mean Dean, father,” said the boy mischievously.

“No, I do not, sir.”

“Hear, hear! Hooray!” shouted Dean.

“But I believe,” continued Sir James, “that it would have woke him up a bit, for he’s nearly as bad as the Fat Boy in Pickwick.”

“Oh, what a shame!” cried the boy.

“And one word more,” continued Sir James, speaking earnestly now. “Do you know, Robertson, this is very odd?”

“What is, sir?” said the doctor, for Sir James had ceased speaking.

“Why, that several times lately I have sat there in that chair thinking about these two fellows and their education, and that though I don’t believe in what people call the Grand Tour, it would be a fine thing for them if they were to travel and see a bit of the world. I mean real travelling, into out-of-the-way places where they could shoot, and hunt, and fish, and collect. I don’t mean to go murdering about, seeing how many poor animals they could slaughter, and calling it sport, but to go out into the wilds getting their livings by their guns or rifles, and learning at the same time the wonders of animated nature, and seeing generally what there is to be found in life. Of course I know that you could impart all this to the boys by means of books of travel, but how would it be if you were to pick out some interesting country and teach them by genuine travel? Much better than nailing you down to a table with a pile of books. Why, doctor—boys—Bah! Bless my heart! There’s the dinner-bell! No dressing to-day. Come along. We must talk more of this another time.”

Chapter Two.

How Mark Roche gained the Day.

The idea of travelling was not allowed to cool. A few days passed,