e
fire in yer veins won't let ye do that. You are valiant; very good: you
don't want to husband yer valiance at home. The arg'ment is plain.'

'If my birth had been more obscure,' murmured the yeoman, 'and I had only
been in the militia, for instance, or among the humble pikemen, so much
wouldn't have been expected of me--of my fiery nature. Cripplestraw, is
there a drop of brandy to be got at in the house? I don't feel very
well.'

'Dear nephew,' said the old gentleman from above, whom neither of the
others had as yet noticed, 'I haven't any spirits opened--so unfortunate!
But there's a beautiful barrel of crab-apple cider in draught; and
there's some cold tea from last night.'

'What, is he listening?' said Festus, staring up. 'Now I warrant how
glad he is to see me forced to go--called out of bed without breakfast,
and he quite safe, and sure to escape because he's an old
man!--Cripplestraw, I like being in the yeomanry cavalry; but I wish I
hadn't been in the ranks; I wish I had been only the surgeon, to stay in
the rear while the bodies are brought back to him--I mean, I should have
thrown my heart at such a time as this more into the labour of restoring
wounded men and joining their shattered limbs together--u-u-ugh!--more
than I can into causing the wounds--I am too humane, Cripplestraw, for
the ranks!'

'Yes, yes,' said his companion, depressing his spirits to a kindred
level. 'And yet, such is fate, that, instead of joining men's limbs
together, you'll have to get your own joined--poor young sojer!--all
through having such a warlike soul.'

'Yes,' murmured Festus, and paused. 'You can't think how strange I feel
here, Cripplestraw,' he continued, laying his hand upon the centre
buttons of his waistcoat. 'How I do wish I was only the surgeon!'

He slowly mounted, and Uncle Benjy, in the meantime, sang to himself as
he looked on, '_Twen-ty-three and half from N.W._ _Six-teen and three-
quar-ters from N.E._'

'What's that old mummy singing?' said Festus savagely.

'Only a hymn for preservation from our enemies, dear nephew,' meekly
replied the farmer, who had heard the remark. '_Twen-ty-three and half
from N.W_.'

Festus allowed his horse to move on a few paces, and then turned again,
as if struck by a happy invention. 'Cripplestraw,' he began, with an
artificial laugh, 'I am obliged to confess, after all--I must see her!
'Tisn't nature that makes me draw back--'tis love. I must go and look