soner, deserving of every pity.

"Sit ye down there," at last said the Cornal, "with my brother the
General's leave." And he waved to the high-backed haffit chair Miss Mary
had so sparely filled an hour ago. Then he withdrew the stopper of the
bottle, poured a tiny drop of the spirits into both tumblers, and drank
"The King and his Arms," a sentiment the General joined in with his hand
tremulous around the glass.

"Listen to me," said the Cornal, "and here I speak, I think, for
my brother the General, who has too much to be thinking about to be
troubling with these little affairs. Listen to me. I fought in Corunna,
in Salamanca, Vittoria and Waterloo, and at Waterloo I led the Royals up
against the yetts of hell. Did I not, Dugald?"

"You did that," said Dugald, withdrawing himself again from a muse over
the records of victory. And then he bent a lustreless eye upon his own
portrait, so sombre and gallant upon the wall, with the gold of the lace
and epaulettes a little tarnished.

"I make no brag of it, mind you," said the Cornal, waving his hand as if
he would be excused for mentioning it. "I am but saying it to show that
I ken a little of bloody wars, and the art and trade of sogering. There
are gifts demanded for the same that seriatim I would enumerate. First
there is natural strength and will. All other trades have their limits,
when a man may tell himself, 'That's the best I can do,' and shut his
book or set down the tool with no disgrace in the relinquishment.
But a soger's is a different ploy; he must stand stark against all
encountering, nor cry a parley even with the lance at his throat. Oh,
man! man! I had a delight in it in my time for all its trials. I
carried claymore (so to name it, ours was a less handsome weapon, you'll
observe), in the ranting, roving humour of a boy; I sailed and marched;
it was fine to touch at foreign ports; it was sweet to hear the drums
beat revally under the vines; the camp-fire, the--"

"And it would be on the edge of a wood," broke in the boy in Gaelic;
"the logs would roar and hiss. The fires would be in yellow dots along
the countryside, and the heather would be like a pillow so soft and
springy under the arm. Round about, the soldiers would be standing,
looking at the glow, their faces red and flickering, and behind would be
the black dark of the wood like the inside of a pot, a wood with ghosts
and eerie sounds and----"

He stammered and broke down under the astounded