' said
Macgregor, as though the months of training were already nearing an
end.

'If ye dinna get leave sune, I'll be up at the barracks to ha'e a
word wi' the general.'

'It'll likely be a camp, mither.'

'Aweel, camp or barracks, see an' keep yer feet cosy, an' dinna
smoke ower mony ceegarettes.' She fell to with her needle.

At the end of a long minute, Macgregor observed to the kettle: 'I
tell't fayther what I done wi' the twa pound.'

'Did ye?'

'Ay. He--he was awfu' pleased.'

'Was he?'

Macgregor took a puff at his cold cigarette, and tried again. 'He
said I was to tell ye he was pleased.'

'Oh, did he?'

'Never pleaseder in his life.'

'That was nice,' commented Lizzie, twirling the thread round the
stitching of a button.

He got up, went to the window, looked out, possibly for
inspiration, and came back with a little box in his hand.

'That's what I done,' he said, dropped it on her sewing, and
strolled to the window again.

After a long time, as it seemed, he felt her gaze and heard her
voice.

'Macgreegor, are ye in earnest?'

'Sure.' He turned to face her, but now she was looking down at the
ring.

'It'll be Mistress Baldwin's niece,' she said, at last.

'Hoo did ye ken?'

'A nice lass, but ower young like yersel'. An' yet'--she lifted
her eyes to his--'ye're auld enough to be a sojer. Does she ken
ye've enlisted?'

He nodded, looking away. There was something in his mother's
eyes. . .

'Aweel,' she said, as if to herself, 'this war'll pit auld heids on
some young shouthers.' She got up, laid her seam deliberately on
the table, and went to him. She put her arm round him. 'Wi' yer
King an' yer Country an' yer Christina,' she said, with a sort of
laugh, 'there winna be a great deal o' ye left for yer mither. But
she's pleased if you're pleased--this time, at ony rate.' She
released him. 'I maun tell Jeannie.' she said, leaving the kitchen.

Jeannie came, and for once that sensible little person talked
nonsense. In her eyes, by his engagement, her big brother had
simply out-heroed himself.

'Aw, clay up, Jeannie,' he cried at last, in his embarrassment.
'Come on oot wi' me, an' I'll stan' ye a dizzen sliders.'

III

FIRST BLOOD

Macgregor, his countenance shining with lover's anticipation and
Lever's soap, was more surprised than gratified to find Willie
Thomson awaiting him at the close-mouth. For Willie, his oldest,
if not his choicest friend, had