was playing the overture to the
Sing-song, for the men had been told that Bobby was out of danger. The
clash of the brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby's ears.

Is there a single joy or pain,
That I should never kno-ow?
You do not love me, 'tis in vain,
Bid me good-bye and go!

An expression of hopeless irritation crossed the boy's face, and he
tried to shake his head.

The Surgeon-Major bent down 'What is it, Bobby?' 'Not that waltz,'
muttered Bobby. 'That's our own our very ownest own. Mummy dear.'

With this he sank into the stupor that gave place to death early next
morning.

Revere, his eyes red at the rims and his nose very white, went into
Bobby's tent to write a letter to Papa Wick which should bow the white
head of the ex-Commissioner of Chota-Buldana in the keenest sorrow of
his life. Bobby's little store of papers lay in confusion on the table,
and among them a half-finished letter. The last sentence ran: 'So you
see, darling, there is really no fear, because as long as I know you
care for me and I care for you, nothing can touch me.'

Revere stayed in the tent for an hour. When he came out his eyes were
redder than ever.

Private Conklin sat on a turned-down bucket, and listened to a not
unfamiliar tune. Private Conklin was a convalescent and should have been
tenderly treated.

'Ho!' said Private Conklin. 'There's another bloomin' orf'cer da ed.'

The bucket shot from under him, and his eyes filled with a smithyful of
sparks. A tall man in a blue-gray bedgown was regarding him with deep
disfavour.

'You ought to take shame for yourself, Conky! Orf'cer? Bloomin' orf'cer?
I'll learn you to misname the likes of 'im. Hangel! Bloomin' Hangel!
That's wot'e is!'

And the Hospital Orderly was so satisfied with the justice of the
punishment that he did not even order Private Dormer back to his cot.

IN THE MATTER OF A PRIVATE

Hurrah! hurrah! a soldier's life for me! Shout, boys, shout! for it
makes you jolly and free.
--The Ramrod Corps.

PEOPLE who have seen, say that one of the quaintest spectacles of
human frailty is an outbreak of hysterics in a girls' school. It starts
without warning, generally on a hot afternoon among the elder pupils. A
girl giggles till the giggle gets beyond control. Then she throws up her
head, and cries, "Honk, honk, honk," like a wild goose, and tears mix
with the laughter. If the mistress be wise she will rap out som