lf up at the soldier to see if he meant to
frighten her, and at the same time gazing curiously at the many funny
round little things in the cartridge-box, at which she pretended to be
desperately afraid.

The gallant soldier was in duty bound not to move his hand, but he so
far relaxed as to allow the tips of two of his fingers to crook
downwards and give the plump round arm of the wench a good tweak.

"Be off with you, I'm afraid you're a bad man after all, Mr. Soldier!"

"I fancy I am too, otherwise I suppose there would not have been so much
of me--little and good you know!"

"Do you know why the cook sent you those cakes?"

"That I may eat them instead of you, I suppose."

"Go along, you naughty man! You do say such naughty things! No, she sent
them that you might tell her when the next public whipping will take
place."

"Does the cook want to see it then? A nice pastime, I must say. You
don't want to see it too, do you?"

"No, not I."

"You ought to see it. It is just the thing for wenches. There are
always as many ladies present on such occasions as if it was
play-acting."

"Oh, I should like to see it then, the sooner the better. Will there be
another soon? That's for the General to decide, isn't it? If I were a
General I would order a flogging every morning, and make the band play
every evening."

"That would be very nice. Come hither, and I will whisper it."

"Truly?" inquired the wench, half turning her head round. "But don't
shout in my ear!"

When she had got near enough to the soldier for him to be able to
whisper in her ear, he suddenly planted a smacking kiss on her red
cheek.

In her terror the wench gave a bound back to the kitchen door, but there
she remained standing, and rubbed her face vigorously with her blue
apron.

"Yes, you are indeed a bad man, Mr. Orderly. And still you have not yet
told me when the next whipping will be."

"Don't fret, my little sister. The spectacle will be better than you
think. There will be a shooting-to-death shortly."

"A shooting-to-death! Oh! that _will_ be nice! And who is going to be
shot?"

"A soldier, my little sister."

"And you'll have to shoot him, perhaps, eh?"

"It is quite possible, my little sister."

"Oh, Mr. Soldier, that's too bad!"

The snub-nosed wench made haste to quit a room in which stood a man
heartless enough to shoot down his living fellow-man, and outside in
the kitchen she had a long discussion with the cook abou