he, and he and Lord Hill bu'st out a-laughin'."

"The non-commissioned mess would be proud and honoured to see you,
sir," said Sergeant Macdonald; "and if you could step as far you'll
always find a pipe o' baccy and a glass o' grog a-waitin' you."

The old man laughed until he coughed. "Like to see me, would they?
The dogs!" said he. "Well, well, when the warm weather comes again
I'll maybe drop in. Too grand for a canteen, eh? Got your mess just
the same as the orficers. What's the world a-comin' to at all!"

"You was in the line, sir, was you not?" asked the sergeant
respectfully.

"The line?" cried the old man, with shrill scorn. "Never wore a shako
in my life. I am a guardsman, I am. Served in the Third Guards--the
same they call now the Scots Guards. Lordy, but they have all marched
away--every man of them--from old Colonel Byng down to the drummer
boys, and here am I a straggler--that's what I am, sergeant, a
straggler! I'm here when I ought to be there. But it ain't my fault
neither, for I'm ready to fall in when the word comes."

"We've all got to muster there," answered the sergeant. "Won't you try
my baccy, sir?" handing over a sealskin pouch.

Old Brewster drew a blackened clay pipe from his pocket, and began to
stuff the tobacco into the bowl. In an instant it slipped through his
fingers, and was broken to pieces on the floor. His lip quivered, his
nose puckered up, and he began crying with the long, helpless sobs of a
child. "I've broke my pipe," he cried.

"Don't, uncle; oh, don't!" cried Norah, bending over him, and patting
his white head as one soothes a baby. "It don't matter. We can easy
get another."

"Don't you fret yourself, sir," said the sergeant. "'Ere's a wooden
pipe with an amber mouth, if you'll do me the honour to accept it from
me. I'd be real glad if you will take it."

"Jimini!" cried he, his smiles breaking in an instant through his
tears. "It's a fine pipe. See to my new pipe, Norah. I lay that
Jarge never had a pipe like that. You've got your firelock there,
sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. I was on my way back from the butts when I looked in."

"Let me have the feel of it. Lordy, but it seems like old times to
have one's hand on a musket. What's the manual, sergeant, eh? Cock
your firelock--look to your priming--present your firelock--eh,
sergeant? Oh, Jimini, I've broke your musket in halves!"

"That's all right, sir," cried the gunner laughing. "You