The Keepers of the Kings Peace | Page 9

save to ask if there was
any insanity in his family, or whether the girl was short--sighted; in fact,
as Bones afterwards said, it might have been Hamilton himself.
"What on earth are they finding to talk about?" wondered Sanders,
watching the confidences from the depths of a big cane chair on the

verandah.
"Bones," replied Hamilton lazily, "is telling her the story of his life and
how he saved the territories from rebellion. He's also begging her not to
breathe a word of this to me for fear of hurting my feelings."
At that precise moment Bones was winding up a most immodest recital
of his accomplishments with a less immodest footnote.
"Of course, dear old Miss Hamilton," he was saying, lowering his voice,
"I shouldn't like a word of this to come to your jolly old brother's ears.
He's an awfully good sort, but naturally in competition with an agile
mind like mine, understanding the native as I do, he hasn't an earthly--"
"Why don't you write the story of your adventures?" she asked
innocently. "It would sell like hot cakes."
Bones choked with gratification.
"Precisely my idea--oh, what a mind you've got! What a pity it doesn't
run in the family! I'll tell you a precious secret--not a word to
anybody--honest?"
"Honest," she affirmed.
Bones looked round.
"It's practically ready for the publisher," he whispered, and stepped
back to observe the effect of his words.
She shook her head in admiration, her eyes were dancing with delight,
and Bones realized that here at last he had met a kindred soul.
"It must be awfully interesting to write books," she sighed. "I've tried
--but can never invent anything."
"Of course, in my case--" corrected Bones.
"I suppose you just sit down with a pen in your hand and imagine all

sorts of things," she mused, directing her feet to the Residency.
"This is the story of my life," explained Bones earnestly. "Not fiction...
but all sorts of adventures that actually happened.
"To whom?" she asked.
"To me," claimed Bones, louder than was necessary.
"Oh!" she said.
"Don't start 'Oh--ing,' " said Bones in a huff. "If you and I are going to
be good friends, dear old Miss Hamilton, don't say 'Oh!' "
"Don't be a bully, Bones." She turned on him so fiercely that he shrank
back.
"Play the game," he said feebly; "play the game, dear old sister!"
She led him captive to the stoep and deposited him in the easiest chair
she could find.
From that day he ceased to be anything but a slave, except on one
point.
The question of missions came up at tiffin, and Miss Hamilton revealed
the fact that she favoured the High Church and held definite views on
the clergy.
Bones confessed that he was a Wesleyan.
"Do you mean to tell me that you're a Nonconformist?" she asked
incredulously.
"That's my dinky little religion, dear old Miss Hamilton," said Bones.
"I'd have gone into the Church only I hadn't enough--enough---''
"Brains?" suggested Hamilton.

"Call is the word," said Bones. "I wasn't called--or if I was I was out
--haw--haw! That's a rippin' little bit of persiflage, Miss Hamilton?"
"Be serious, Bones," said the girl; " you mustn't joke about things."
She put him through a cross--examination to discover the extent of his
convictions. In self--defence Bones, with only the haziest idea of the
doctrine he defended, summarily dismissed certain of Miss Hamilton's
most precious beliefs.
"But, Bones," she persisted, " if I asked you to change--"
Bones shook his head.
"Dear old friend," he said solemnly, " there are two things I'll never do
--alter the faith of my distant but happy youth, or listen to one
disparagin' word about the jolliest old sister that ever--"
"That will do. Bones," she said, with dignity. "I can see that you don't
like me as I thought you did--what do you think, Mr. Sanders?"
Sanders smiled.
"I can hardly judge--you see," he added apologetically, "I'm a
Wesleyan too."
"Oh!" said Patricia, and fled in confusion.
Bones rose in silence, crossed to his chief and held out his hand.
"Brother," he said brokenly.
"What the devil are you doing?" snarled Sanders.
"Spoken like a true Christian, dear old Excellency and sir," murmured
Bones. "We'll bring her back to the fold."
He stepped nimbly to the door, and the serviette ring that Sanders threw
with unerring aim caught his angular shoulder as he vanished.

That same night Sanders had joyful news to impart. He came into the
Residency to find Bones engaged in mastering the art of embroidery
under the girl's tuition.
Sanders interrupted what promised to be a most artistic execution.
"Who says a joy--ride to the upper waters of the Isisi?"
Hamilton jumped up.
"Joy--ride?" he said, puzzled.
Sanders nodded.
"We leave to--morrow for