laughed consumedly till Scott, putting the best face he could
upon the matter, halted his armies and bade her admire the kindergarten.
It was an unseemly sight, but the proprieties had been left ages ago,
with the tea-party at Amritsar Station, fifteen hundred miles to the
north.

"They are coming on nicely," said William. "We've only five-and-twenty
here now. The women are beginning to take them away again."

"Are you in charge of the babies, then?"

"Yes--Mrs. Jim and I. We didn't think of goats, though. We've been
trying condensed-milk and water."

"Any losses?"

"More than I care to think of;" said William, with a shudder. "And you?"

Scott said nothing. There had been many little burials along his
route--one cannot burn a dead baby--many mothers who had wept when they
did not find again the children they had trusted to the care of the
Government.

Then Hawkins came out carrying a razor, at which Scott looked hungrily,
for he had a beard that he did not love. And when they sat down to
dinner in the tent he told his tale in few words, as it might have been
an official report. Mrs. Jim snuffled from time to time, and Jim bowed
his head judicially; but William's grey eyes were on the clean-shaven
face, and it was to her that Scott seemed to appeal.

"Good for the Pauper Province!" said William, her chin on her hand, as
she leaned forward among the wine-glasses. Her cheeks had fallen in,
and the scar on her forehead was more prominent than ever, but the
well-turned neck rose roundly as a column from the ruffle of the blouse
which was the accepted evening-dress in camp.

"It was awfully absurd at times," said Scott. "You see, I didn't know
much about milking or babies. They'll chaff my head off, if the tale
goes up North."

"Let 'em," said William, haughtily. "We've all done coolie-work since we
came. I know Jack has." This was to Hawkins's address, and the big man
smiled blandly.

"Your brother's a highly efficient officer, William," said he, "and I've
done him the honour of treating him as he deserves. Remember, I write
the confidential reports."

"Then you must say that William's worth her weight in gold," said Mrs.
Jim. "I don't know what we should have done without her. She has been
everything to us." She dropped her hand upon William's, which was rough
with much handling of reins, and William patted it softly. Jim beamed
on the company. Things were going well with his world. Three of his more
grossl