hold a candle to my Emmy!" Perhaps the most cutting remark of
all--made mentally, of course--was that of Sergeant Grady, who, for
reasons best known to himself, had left a wife, describable as a stout
well-favoured girl of forty, behind him.

"In twenty years or so," he thought, "she may perhaps be near as
good-lookin' as my Susy, but she'll never come quite up to her--never!"

"Come this way, Mrs Drew," said the captain. "I will show you the
men's quarters. Out of the way, my man!"

Flushing to the roots of his hair, Miles stepped hastily aside.

As he did so there was heard an awful rend of a sort that tests the
temper of women! It was followed by a musical scream. The girl's dress
had caught on a block tackle.

Miles leaped forward and unhooked it. He was rewarded with a smiling
"Thank you," which was followed by a blush of confusion as Miss Drew's
mother exclaimed, "Oh! Marion--how _could_ you?" by way of making
things easier for her, no doubt!

"You did that, young man, about as smart as I could a' done it myself,"
growled a voice behind him.

The speaker was Jack Molloy, and a general titter followed Miles as he
hurried away.

As we have said, the weather became much worse when the troop-ship drew
near to the Bay of Biscay; and it soon became evident that they were not
to cross that famous portion of the Atlantic, without experiencing some
of the violent action for which it is famed. But by that time most of
the soldiers, according to Molloy, had got their sea-legs on, and rather
enjoyed the tossing than otherwise.

"I do like this sort o' thing," said a beardless young fellow, as a
number of the men sat on camp-stools, or stood on the weather-side of
the deck, chatting together about past times and future prospects.

"Ha!" exclaimed a seaman, who stood near them coiling up a rope; "hold
on till you've got a taste o' the Bay. This is a mill-pond to that.
And you'll have the chance to-night. If you don't, I'm a Dutchman."

"If I do, you'll have a taste of it too, old salt-water, for we're in
the same boat," retorted the young red-coat.

"True, but we ain't in the same body;" returned the sailor. "I should
just like to see your four-futt legs wobblin' about in a nor'-west gale.
You'd sing another song."

"Come, Macleod," cried Moses Pyne, "tip us a Gaelic song."

"Hoots, man, wull ye be wantin' to be made sea-seek?--for that's what'll
do it," said the big Scotsman. "Na, na, let Gaspard s