Whenever there was something to be done, each put the question before me, for me to decide whether I considered it obligatory on me. They would advise thought first before deciding, and then would say no more. They were very good friends, these two.

Mr. Smith continued his yearly visits, but now each time he came the three men and my mother would hold a solemn conclave from which I was excluded.

He was becoming to me something more than the apparition of former years, as he would talk more to me, showing a considerable amount of interest in my studies, and would ask permission to send me books, which were mostly stories of war.

War was a subject which appealed to me, for my feelings towards soldiers were almost sacred.

My stepfather had given me a great number of small leaden warriors, and I fancy that he must have had them made for me, as they were absolutely complete in detail. They consisted not only of the actual fighting men, but artillery, commissariat, red-cross waggons, and engineers.

With these, when the weather permitted, we would adjourn to the garden, and on a patch of rough ground fight out the great battles of history.

Perhaps ten little pieces of lead counted as at regiment, or one small brass cannon a whole battery; it did not matter, the main thing being that the opposing armies should be as near as possible to the actual strength of the armies they represented. It would have amused people perhaps to have seen the group we made: two elderly men and one small boy absolutely engrossed in their game; if it could be so termed.

Personally, I have never underrated the effect it had on me, and I trace the success I have met with in real warfare to the accuracy and care we expended on these occasions. Naturally many questions had to be asked, and these were generally answered by my stepfather, who was a great authority on all things pertaining to war. How he could make the necessary leisure to play with me I cannot understand, for his must have been a very strenuous life, although I did not realise it at the time.

Two more years went by, and then I was informed that it had been decided to send me to school, an idea which at first did not greatly charm me. It had never entered my head that I should ever be a schoolboy, it had seemed to me that I was apart somehow from all other boys, and although I had read books of school life, they had never appeared real to me, most probably because I had never known anyone of my own age.

When the thought obtained a firm footing in my mind, it began to wear a more interesting aspect, for I conjured up alluring adventures, and finally grew to like the idea so much that I was all excitement for the entrance examination.

The only drawback that I could perceive, was the fact that I should have to leave Mr. Neville, and my mother and stepfather. It was difficult to conceive life without them, but they one and all pooh-poohed that side of it, and told me that it was high time that I got away from their apron strings. In spite of this Spartan argument, I know they were very sorry when the day came for me to depart.

I passed my entrance examination too well, rather too brilliantly, and was therefore put into a class with boys a good deal my senior; consequently my first term was not all my fancy had painted it. At first, I foolishly imagined that school was the place for work, so endangering my reputation by being looked upon as a "swot," and something of a prig. Realising this and recognising my shortcomings, I scrupulously refrained from working hard and devoted myself to games.

The senior I fagged for was a nice, kind chap who treated me with great consideration for the first few days, but after that he treated me in a way that was essentially good for my soul. He did, however, explain many little difficulties in regard to games and encouraged me to go in for them hot and strong.

With the majority of my schoolfellows I was on good terms; I had the usual number of scuffles which could not be called fights, only one coming under that category; that was with a fellow whom I disliked heartily, for no particular reason; he returned the feeling and tried to bully.

We therefore set to in good earnest; he was two years older and a good deal bigger; it is undoubtedly true that I should have received a thrashing, had it not been for the tuition I had received from my stepfather. I held my own for ten rounds, when we were stopped by a prefect. I had a beautiful black eye and a cut lip, as well as sundry bruises. My opponent, ditto, ditto; he looked worse, however, because he was full-blooded.

My reputation went up enormously after that. We never finished that scrap, but used to conduct ourselves civilly towards each other. It is wonderful how a tussle can clear the air.

I made a friend that day, Rupert Carruthers, the second son of the Earl of Yelverton. He is still my friend.

My stepfather was delighted when he heard of this fight, and joked with Mr. Neville about it.

"We shall have him in the ring one of these days, eh, Neville?"

"Ah! he might be happier so." A remark which at the time was unintelligible to me.

I do not think my mother was pleased, she said nothing.

These were very happy years; I did as little work as I could, but I played games with every ounce in me, hence I became a good all-round athlete.

In the holidays I studied with Mr. Neville to make up my lapses of the term, and I found it quite enjoyable; he always had the power of making me think more clearly than anyone else ever had.

My stepfather encouraged me in sport of all kinds, boxing, foiling, swimming, rowing, and shooting. He had had a magnificent gymnasium built in the garden and had also rigged up a shooting range for revolver practice.

I believe if I had been the veriest fool and lubber, these two men would have made me different.

My great chum, Carruthers, and I were inseparable, and sometimes exchanged visits to each other's homes. I remember the first time he came to our place; when we went to bed he slipped into my room, which adjoined his, to have a chat. We could both of us do well in that line. This night, however, he did most of the talking, chiefly eulogising my stepfather and Mr. Neville; he spoke with a keen appreciation of their qualities, especially of those I most admired in them; which showed, now I think of it, a perspicacity I had not credited him with.

My mother had received him kindly, but with that unapproachableness which often mystified me; and he was almost shy when speaking of her. I chaffed him about his nervousness when she asked for an explanation of the nickname he always used when speaking to me: "Splosh." Of course he could not give any reason, as there was none to give; but he managed to murmur that I was called Splosh, by every one, because I looked like it.

This lucid explanation was sufficient and convulsing for my stepfather and Mr. Neville, but did not seem to charm that dear mother of mine.

Carruthers' last remarks that night were: "What a lovely mother you have, Splosh."

"Yes, she is," I said.

"I think I should be scared of her."