I was excited and irritable to-night, and said what I am sorry for now." "Then don't say any more, Sir Francis," replied Mr Solomon quietly.
"I've been your servant--" "Faithful servant, Brownsmith." "Well, Sir Francis, `faithful servant,'" said Mr Solomon smiling, "these twenty years, and you don't suppose I'm going to heed a word or two like that." "Thank you, Brownsmith," said Sir Francis, and he turned to Ike and spoke sharply once more.
"What regiment were you in, sir ?" "Eighth Hoozoars, Captain," said Ike, drawing himself up and standing at attention.
"Colonel," whispered Mr Solomon.
"All right!" growled Ike.
"Well, then, Isaac Barnes, speaking as one old soldier to another, I said words to you to-night for which I am heartily sorry.

I beg your pardon." "God bless you, Colonel! If you talk to me like that arterward, you may call me what you like." "Eh ?" cried Sir Francis sharply; "then I will.

How dare you then, you scoundrel, go and disgrace yourself; you, an ex-British soldier--a man who has worn the king's uniform--disgrace yourself by getting drunk?
Shame on you, man, shame!" "Go on, Colonel.

Give it to me," growled Ike.

"I desarve it." "No," said Sir Francis, smiling; "not another word; but don't let it occur again." Ike drew his right hand across one eye, and the left over the other, and gave each a flip as if to shake off a tear, as he growled something about "never no more." I hardly heard him, though, for I was trembling with agitation as I saw Sir Francis turn to me, and I knew that my turn had come.
"Grant, my lad," he said quietly; "I can't tell you how hurt and sorry I felt to-night when I believed you to be mixed up with that contemptible bit of filching.