Marmaduke's warmest friends and he did not enjoy the
thought of the Major worrying him. He attempted to draw the fire to
himself.

"Some folks round here claims to have blue blood, though," he remarked
with a guilelessness that would have misled a German Spy. He
accomplished his object; the Major looked down at him.

"If their claims are true they won't be here long, my friend," he said
emphatically, but he turned to Gavin again.

"Come along, young man, and let me put you down for The Blue Bonnets.
It's the finest Battalion that's going overseas, and we've room for
only a few more. I believe you're Scotch, aren't you? What's your
name?"

"Grant, Gavin Grant."

"Grant! Why, you're the very fellow I'm looking for! Come along and
get into a kilt, man. What's a fellow by the name of Grant doing at
home when there's a war on? Wouldn't you like to go over and smash the
Germans, now?"

Gavin looked at him dumbly. It was as if a lost soul were being asked
if it would like to enter Paradise.

"Well, what's keeping you?" asked the Major impatiently.

"I--I can't leave the farm and my Aunts," he stammered.

"Pshaw, you're not tied to your Auntie's apron string, are you? Every
fellow I ask to enlist in this part of the country has got either an
aunt or a grandmother or a second cousin----"

"I'm worse off than that," interrupted Marmaduke, seeing that Gavin was
in misery, "I've got a--" His voice dropped to a confidential
whisper,--"A _girl_!"

The Major looked at him sharply, but Marmaduke was a perfect picture of
rural simplicity.

"You're not married are you?" he asked shortly, glancing at Tilly, who
had forgotten all about Gavin's purchases and was staring at the smart
officer in open-mouthed admiration.

"Well, not,--that is," Duke hesitated in evident painful embarrassment,
"well, we're not married yet, but we expect very soon,--" He turned a
languishing look upon Tilly, and indicated her to the Major with a jerk
of his thumb over his shoulder. "You wouldn't have a fellow go and
leave his girl now, would you?"

Tilly went off into a spasm of hysterical giggles and denials, and the
shoulders of the two old men beside the stove began to heave with
suppressed laughter.

"Oh, well, you're not married yet," cried the Major briskly. "You come
along and enlist in our Highland Battalion. What's your name?"

"Timothy O'Toole," said Marmaduke shamelessly, "and I'll go in no
Highland gang, I'd nivir