ent from above?"

The pale, shrunken face of the speaker glowed, and his faded eyes
lit up with the light of love.

"We were happy for a time, and the little gal was born, but the
bumper crop did not come. Then, sir, I sold farm tools and my horse,
and sent the wife to a hill station for her health. I kept the little
gal. I stayed to work, as none of my natives ever worked. It was a
gay station to which she went. You know the rest,--she never came
back. That ended the struggle. I would have shot myself but for the
little one. I took her and we wandered here and there, doing odd jobs
for a few months at a time. I drifted down to Singapore, hoping to
better myself, but, sir, I am about used up. It's hard--hard."

He buried his head in his long, thin fingers, and sat perfectly still.

There was a sound outside above the roar of the wind and the rain. At
first faint and intermittent, it grew louder, and continuous, and
came close. There was no mistaking it,--the march of booted men.

"What's that?" asked my companion, with a start.

"Tommy Atkins," I replied, "the clang of the ammunition boot as big
as life."

His face grew ashy white, and he looked furtively around the room.

"What's the matter?" I exclaimed, but as I asked, I knew.

I opened the bath-room door and shoved him in.

"Go in there" I said, "and compose some more fairy tales."

He was scarcely out of sight when the front door was thrown open,
and a corporal's guard, wet yet happy, marched into the room.

The corporal stood with his back to the door, and gave himself
mental words of command,--"Eyes left, eyes right,"--then, as a last
resource,--"eyes under the table." He had not noticed the little bundle
in the dark corner. He drew himself up and gave the military salute.

"Beg pardon, sir, but we are out for a deserter from the 58th,--Bill
Hulish,--we 'ave tracked him 'ere, and with the compliments of the
commanding hofficer, we'll search the 'ouse."

"Search away," I answered, as I heard the outside bath-room door open
and close softly.

They returned empty-handed, but not greatly disappointed.

"Wet night, corporal," I ventured.

"One of the worst as ever I knew, sir," he replied, eying the whiskey
bottle and the two half-drained glasses.

"'Ad a long march, sir, fourteen miles."

I pushed the bottle toward him, and with a deprecatory salute he
turned out a stiff drink.

"'Ere's to yer 'ealth, sir, an' may ye always 'ave an extra glass