Of the latter, Mr. Fenwick, of the Royal Military Academy,

"For Heaven's sake, boy, who, and what are you?" she demanded. "Can YOU read Latin?"

"Why, of course! Can't you?" With a disdainful gesture Miss Holbrook swept this aside.

"Boy, who are you?" she demanded again imperatively.

"But David who? Where do you live?"

"I'm David--just David. I live at Farmer Holly's now; but I did live on the mountain with--father, you know."

A great light of understanding broke over Miss Holbrook's face. She dropped back into her seat.

"Oh, I remember," she murmured. "You're the little--er--boy whom he took. I have heard the story. So THAT is who you are," she added, the old look of aversion coming back to her eyes. She had almost said "the little tramp boy"--but she had stopped in time.

"Yes. And now what do they mean, please,--those words,-- 'I count no hours but unclouded ones'?"