of a man whom he had left hale and
young--a promising corporal.

He made his way back slowly to the hospital, leaning heavily on his
stick. Strange shrill noises brought him to a halt on the threshold.
They came from the back of the house.

At the sound of his wooden leg in the brick passage, Cai Tamblyn
thrust his head out from the kitchen doorway.

"You come in," said he. "Please the Lord, the worst is over; but I
had to tell her."

"Her?" echoed the Major in bewilderment. "Who?"

"Why, you see, fixed up as we were here--the woman with six empty
beds to nurse, and me on 'tother side with a roomful o' momentoes,
an' no end to it but the grave--there seemed no way out but
matterimony. What with my fifty an' her little savin's we might ha'
managed it, too, comfertable enough. But when along comes you an'
upsets the apple-cart, w'y, in justice, the woman had to be told.
Which it took her like a slap in the wind, an' I'm surprised the way
she'd set her heart on it. But never you mind; she's sensible enough
when she comes round."

"Cai," said the Major, solemnly, "I thought we had agreed that no one
was to be told?"

"So we did, sir," answered Mr. Tamblyn, setting his jaw. "But, come
to think it over, 'twasn't fair to the woman. Not bein' a married
man yourself, sir, or as good as such--"

"Excuse me," said the Major, lifting a hand. "I quite well
understand. But suppose that I have not come back after all!"

CHAPTER XXII.

WINDS UP WITH A MERRY-GO-ROUND.

Troy on a Regatta Day differs astonishingly from Troy on any other
day in the year, and yet until you have seen us on a Regatta Day you
have not seen Troy.

Once every August, on a Monday afternoon, the frenzy descends upon
us; and then for three days we dress our town in bunting and bang
starting guns and finishing guns, and put on fancy dresses, and march
in procession with Japanese lanterns, and dance, and stare at
pyrotechnical displays. But the centre, the pivot, the axis of our
revelry is always the merry-go-round on the Town Quay.

"The merry-go-round, the merry-go-round,
the merry-go-round at Troy,
They whirl around, they gallop around,
man, woman, and maid and boy!"

Yachtsmen, visitors, farmers and country wives, sober citizens and
mothers of families, all meet centripetally and mount and are
whirled to the mad strains of the barrel-organ under the flaming
naphtha, around the revolving pillar where t