The long-drawn-out, sweet notes of "Reveille" rang out in the frosty
dawn. Reg. No. ---- Const George Redmond, engaged at that moment in
pulling on his "fatigue-slacks" hummed the trumpet-call's time-honoured
vocal parody--

"_I sold a cow, I sold a cow, an' bought a donk-ee--'
Oh--what--a silly old sot you were_!"

The room buzzed like a drowsy hive with hastily dressing men. Breathing
hotly on the frosted window-pane next his cot, George rubbed a clear
patch and glued his eye to it. The blizzard had died out during the
night leaving the snow-drifted landscape frosty, still and clear. A
rapidly widening strip of blended rose and pale turquoise on the eastern
horizon gave promise of a fine day.

He turned away with a contented sigh and, descending the stairs, fell in
with the rest of the fur-coated, moccasined men on "Morning Stable
Parade."

Three hours later, breakfast despatched, blankets rolled and kit and
dunnage bags packed, he received a curt summons from the sergeant-major
to attend the Orderly-room. To the brisk word of command he was
"quick-_marched_" "left-_wheeled_," and "halted" at "attention" before
the desk of the Officer Commanding L. Division.

"Constable Redmond, Sir!" announced the deep-throated, rumbling bass of
the sergeant-major; and for some seconds George gazed at the silvery hair
and wide bowed shoulders of the seated figure in front of him, who
continued his perusal of some type-written sheets of foolscap, as if
unaware of any interruption. Elsewhere have the kindly personality and
eccentricities of Captain Richard Bargrave been described; "but that," as
Kipling says, "is another story."

Presently the papers were cast aside, the bowed shoulders in the
splendidly-cut blue-serge uniform squared back in the chair, and Redmond
found himself being scrutinized intently by the all-familiar bronzed old
aristocratic countenance, with its sweeping fair moustache.
Involuntarily he stiffened, though his eyes, momentarily overpowered by
the intensity of that keen gaze, strayed to the level of his superior's
breast and focussed themselves upon two campaign ribbons there,
"North-West Rebellion" and "Ashantee" decorations.

Suddenly the thin, high, cultured voice addressed
him--whimsically--sarcastic but not altogether unkindly:

"The Sergeant-Major"--the gold-rimmed pince-nez were swung to an
elevation indicating that individual and the fair moustache was twirled
pensively--"the Serg