When Mrs.Fortescue heard this, she trembled a little; it was almost too much of joy; this last crowning gift of fate made her almost afraid.

And Beverley was to see, for the first time, the After-Clap, who was so much like Beverley that the Colonel and Mrs.Fortescue could hardly persuade themselves he was their last born, and not their first born.
On the great day, Beverley came.

In the soft July evening, at the threshold, stood Mrs.Fortescue, holding by the hand the After-Clap, a sturdy little chap for his two-and-a-half years.

The mother was smiling and blushing like a girl.

Behind her stood Kettle, his face shining as if it had been varnished, and next him was Sergeant McGillicuddy, who had taught Beverley to ride and to shoot and to skate and to box, and all the manly sports of boyhood.