ener's numerous offspring, the boy had given his family no "peace"
till they let him "go for a soldier" with Master Tony and Master
Jackanapes. They consented at last, with more tears than they shed when
an elder son was sent to jail for poaching; and the boy was perfectly
happy in his life, and full of _esprit de corps_. It was this which had
been wounded by having to sound retreat for "the young gentlemen's
regiment," the first time he served with it before the enemy; and he was
also harassed by having completely lost sight of Master Tony. There had
been some hard fighting before the backward movement began, and he had
caught sight of him once, but not since. On the other hand, all the
pulses of his village pride had been stirred by one or two visions of
Master Jackanapes whirling about on his wonderful horse. He had been
easy to distinguish, since an eccentric blow had bared his head without
hurting it; for his close golden mop of hair gleamed in the hot sunshine
as brightly as the steel of the sword flashing round it.

Of the missiles that fell pretty thickly, the Boy Trumpeter did not take
much notice. First, one can't attend to everything, and his hands were
full; secondly, one gets used to anything; thirdly, experience soon
teaches one, in spite of proverbs, how very few bullets find their
billet. Far more unnerving is the mere suspicion of fear or even of
anxiety in the human mass around you. The Boy was beginning to wonder if
there were any dark reason for the increasing pressure, and whether they
would be allowed to move back more quickly, when the smoke in front
lifted for a moment, and he could see the plain, and the enemy's line
some two hundred yards away. And across the the plain between them, he
saw Master Jackanapes galloping alone at the top of Lollo's speed, their
faces to the enemy, his golden head at Lollo's ear.

But at this moment noise and smoke seemed to burst out on every side;
the officer shouted to him to sound Retire! and between trumpeting and
bumping about on his horse, he saw and heard no more of the incidents of
his first battle.

Tony Johnson was always unlucky with horses, from the days of the
giddy-go-round onwards. On this day--of all days in the year--his own
horse was on the sick list, and he had to ride an inferior,
ill-conditioned beast, and fell off that, at the very moment when it was
matter of life or death to be able to ride away. The horse fell on him,
but struggled up aga