CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
WHICH BRINGS MY ADVENTURES TO A CLOSE.
Reader, be my companion in one scene more, and my story is done.
A month or two ago there was a grand merrymaking at the house of one Charles Newcome, Esquire, late captain in her Majesty's army, to celebrate the tenth birthday of his son, Master Thomas James Newcome.
The company was mostly juvenile, and included, of course, the gallant captain's two little girls and his younger son, that most terrible of all Turks, Charlie the younger.

Then there were all the little boys and girls living in the square, and many others from a distance, and one or two big boys and girls, and one or two young gentlemen who stroked their chins as if something was to be felt there, and one or two young ladies who would not take twice of sponge-cake, for fear of looking as if they were hungry.

But besides these there were a few grown-up people present, whom I must not forget to name.

Naturally the gallant captain was one, and the gallant captain's lady was another; and then there were the last-named lady's two brothers there, one a clergyman called the Reverend James Halliday, and the other (and elder) Mr Joseph Halliday, a civil engineer with a ferocious pair of whiskers.

And, to complete the party, there was present a grave, anxious-looking gentleman by the name of Mr Drift, a surgeon.
These all sat apart and looked on while the young folk enjoyed themselves.