f little avail.

Chapter 3: The First Fight.

And yet, though he kept up a cheerful appearance, Lisle's heart was
often very heavy. The sight of the British officers continually
recalled his father to his memory. But a short time back he had
been with him, and now he was gone for ever. At times it seemed
almost impossible that it could be so. He had been his constant
companion when off duty; had devoted much time to helping him
forward in his studies; had never, so far as he could remember,
spoken a harsh word to him.

It seemed like a dream, those last hours he had passed by his
father's bedside. Many times he lay awake in the night, his face
wet with tears. But with reveille he would be up, laughing and
joking with the soldiers, and raising a smile even on the face of
the gravest.

It had taken him but a very short time to make himself at home in
the regiment. The men sometimes looked at him with surprise, he was
so different from themselves. They bore their hardships well, but
it was with stern faces and grim determination; while this young
soldier made a joke of them.

Sometimes he was questioned closely, but he always turned the
questions off with a laugh. He had learned the place where his
supposed cousin came from and, while sticking to this, he said that
a good fairy must have presided over his birth; information that
was much more gravely received than given, for the natives have
their superstitions, and believe, as firmly as the inhabitants of
these British islands did, two or three hundred years ago, in the
existence of supernatural beings, good and bad.

"If you have been blessed by a fairy," one of the elder men
suggested, "doubtless you will go through this campaign without
harm. They are very powerful, some of these good people, and can
bestow long life as well as other gifts."

"I don't know whether she will do that. She certainly gave me high
spirits. I used to believe that what my mother said happened to
her, the night after I was born, was not true, but only a dream.
She solemnly declared that it was not, but I have always been
famous for good spirits; and she may have been right, after all."

There was nothing Lisle liked better than being on night picket
duty. Other men shirked it, but to him there was something
delightful to stand there almost alone, rifle in hand, watching the
expanse of snow for a moving figure. There was a charm in the dead
silence. He liked to think quietly of