"Good evening, my lad," said the soldier.

"Good evening, cap'n," said the youth.

"Not cap'n just yet," said the other, laughing; "call it sergeant."

"Well, sargint. Good evening to ye, sargint."

"I've been looking for you all day, that I have," said the sergeant.

"What, me!" said my new master, in astonishment.

"Well, I was told to look out for the finest young fellow in the place, and that's about the same thing."

The lad chuckled at this vastly, and then said,—

"And what might ye be wanting me for, gineral, at all at all?"

"Faith, Patrick," said the sergeant, adopting the Irish brogue as if he had been a native, "to give yez a message from the Quane, just."

"The Quane!" shouted the Irishman.

"Sure, no other. She wants your help, my lad."

"And she shall have it, bless her! What can I do at all?"

"Arrah, she wants yez to foight a blackguard or two that's guv' her impidence."

"They have! I'm yer boy for a shindy. Where are they, colonel?"

"Not far off. And, by the way, she sent ye this bran new shillin' with her best respex to ye, Pat; and sez I'm to axe ye what you'll take to drink her health in; so come along, my lad."

Patrick did come along, and of course was duly and willingly enlisted by his new friend, who promised him honour, and glory, and riches enough to make a commander-in-chief's mouth water.

My new master, perhaps, was fond of making himself out a greater simpleton than he really was. At any rate, he appeared to believe every word the recruiting officer told him. And having no friends to say good-bye to, and no luggage to pack up, and no money (unless he pawned me) to spend, he was ready for marching orders immediately. To my surprise, he showed no desire now to dispose of me.

"What 'ud I want to give him up?" he said to himself as he held me in his hand. "Shure he'll be handy to tell the toime by on the faylde of battle." And with this satisfactory assurance he put me back in his pocket, which, greatly to my relief, was not the one which contained that asthmatic pocket-comb.

Patrick had not to leave for his depot till next day, and took a long stroll through the streets of Seatown along with the recruiting officer this evening. He was in high spirits and very proud of being a soldier, so the sergeant had very little difficulty in keeping him in good humour. Indeed, he stood that officer in good stead once; for encountering a compatriot acquaintance, a likely sort of fellow too, he helped her Majesty's army to a fine recruit.

"Here, Larry, ye blackguard," called he, "here's a gentman axing for yez."

Larry, a hulking sheepish young Irishman, did not look particularly happy at this information, and replied,—

"And what's to prevent him axing?"

"Man dear, and is that the way ye address one of the Quane's foighting men? Spake to him, meejor dear."

The "dear meejor" at this point took up the discourse.

"Faith," he said, "till I saw Patrick here I thought there wasn't a single boy in the place smart enough to wear a red coat, but I see there's two of ye anyhow."

And the sergeant laughed loud and clapped Larry on the back, and told him it was a shame for him to be walking about in boots full of holes, when he might be strutting up and down as fine as any gentleman in the place, to say nothing of regular pay and quarters, and all the chance of glory. And Patrick added his persuasions, and quoted his own example as a great argument. And between them Larry let the shilling drop into his hand, and the three went off to drink her Majesty's health, and then continued their pilgrimage through the streets.

At one street corner there was a rush of people, reading a newly-posted bill. Fancy my astonishment as I read:—"L20 reward! Lost yesterday (February 4th), near Seatown Gaol, an old silver watch, of very little value to any one but the owner. A piece of black ribbon was attached. Any one bringing the above to the Reverend James Halliday, at 2, Quay Street, will receive L20 reward."

How my heart beat as our party halted in front of this announcement. Alas! my new master was not a scholar, and on satisfying himself the object of the people's assembling was not a fight, he took no further interest in the matter, but shouldered his way past with no more thought of me just at that moment than of the North Pole.

That night, as I lay in the dark in my new quarters, I had leisure to think over the strange turn which my fortune had taken. Here I was in a town where three of those whom at some time or other I had called master were living. One was a common prisoner, one a hard-working curate, and one a raw recruit. Of my other masters, one was a London thief, one lay in his grave, and the other, and best loved of all, was far away in scenes and perils which I could not so much as picture to myself. What would become of me? I knew not; but I could not help feeling the best part of my life was spent, for who could be to me again what some of those whom I now remembered had been?

I had arrived thus far in my meditations when I all of a sudden turned faint. I knew what the matter was at once, and what did this lump of an Irishman understand about watch-keys and winding up?

I called faintly to the watered ribbon—

"I'm running down!"

"Down where?" ejaculated he, in well-feigned alarm.

"Wretch!" gasped I, "somebody ought to wind me up."

"Up where?" again asked my unsympathetic tormentor.

"Brute!" was all I could say.

"That's just the way with you clever people," began the ribbon; "as long as you are all right no name's bad enough for poor people like us; but as soon as ever you get into trouble—"

Here with a groan I ran down, and was spared the end of his speech.

I only had a vague, dim idea of what took place for the next few months. I was conscious of long railway journeys, and arriving at a big, dreary-looking sort of prison where there was nothing but soldiers.

All day long the place rang with bugle notes and words of command; and all night my master slept in a great room with a lot of noisy men, of whom I have an impression he was not the most silent. In due time he put a coat over the waistcoat in which I lived, and was mightily proud the first time he walked abroad in his new dress. And so things went on for nearly a year.

But one day it was evident some great excitement had come to vary the monotony of our barrack life. Officers talked in clusters instead of drilling their men, and the men instead of doing their ordinary work crowded into the long shed to talk over the news.

And it soon came out what the news was. The regiment had been ordered to hold itself in readiness for immediate service at the seat of war in India! What excitement there was! What cheers and exultation! What spirits the men were in, and what friends every one became all of a sudden with everybody else! Among the rest my young master's blood rose within him at the thought of fighting. He had grown sick of the dull routine of barrack life, and more than once half repented his easy acceptance of the Queen's shilling, but now he thought of nothing but the wars, and his spirits rose so high that the sergeant on duty had to promise him an arrest before he could be reduced to order.

At night the room where we slept was a perfect Babel. Men talked of nothing but the voyage and the campaign that was to follow, and wished the marching orders had been for to-morrow instead of next week.

Suddenly (and I don't exactly know why) my master remembered my existence, and I heard him call out,—

"Does any of you boys know anything about a watch, at all?"

"Duck Downie does," replied one or two voices.

"Duck Downie, me jewil, will ye step this way just?" called out my master, "and cast your eye on my watch?"

The gentleman rejoicing in the name of Duck Downie was a ferocious- looking little fellow who had, before he decided to devote his energies to the extermination of her Majesty's foes, been a watchmaker's apprentice. He came, forward at the invitation, and cast his eye in the direction indicated. It was evidently the first time he had known that Paddy so much as owned a watch; for he stared hard at me, and then said with a knowing wink,—

"Did he struggle much?"

"Faith and he did a wee bit, Duck, but so did I too, ye see," said Paddy, entering into the joke.

"Let's have a look at him," said Duck, taking me and stripping the coat off my back. "Give us the key."

"The kay!" said Paddy, whose notions of a watch's interior were delightfully vague; "sure there's no kay. Here, Edward I will ye lend Mister Downie a kay!"

The youth addressed as Edward fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the key of his locker, which he handed to my master.

"That's the boy! Here's a kay, Duck darlint, since ye want one."

Duck was rude enough to laugh immoderately at this—so much so, that my master, who was unconscious of a joke, grew quite angry.

"Ef that's all ye can do—gape like an ould money-box—I can do that as well myself; so hand up the watch!"

Duck Downie laughed again at this, and then said,—

"I want the key of the watch, puddin'-head, not this thing!"

"Arrah, it's got no kay, I tell ye. What ud it want a kay for?"

Duck laughed again at this.

"Paddy," said he, "next time you borrow a gentleman's watch be sure you ask 'im for the key, do you hear? You want the key to wind the thing up—that's why he don't go."

Paddy, who had sense enough to see that Mr Downie knew more about a watch than he did, held his peace, and took no trouble to refute the imputation on the way in which he had come by me.

Duck Downie having, with some difficulty, borrowed a watch-key, wound me up, greatly to my delight and that of my master. It was delicious to feel the blood tingling through my veins once more, and to have my heart beat again with renewed animation. My master's glee was only equalled by his astonishment. He looked at first as if he suspected Duck Downie of being in league with supernatural powers; but when that eminent mechanic took the trouble to explain to him the value of the operation he had just performed on me, Paddy without a word rushed out, at the risk of all sorts of penalties, into the town, and knew no peace till he had possessed himself of a "kay," which henceforth became the inseparable companion of me and the watered ribbon.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

HOW I MADE A LONG JOURNEY, AND REACHED THE HAPPIEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE.

One morning, in the autumn of the same year, a small cluster of men standing on the deck of the troopship "Lizard," as she tumbled lazily forward over the waves, descried in the far horizon before them a dim low line of blue. My master was one of this cluster, and having recovered from the depression which had afflicted both his spirits and his stomach during the early part of the voyage, now celebrated the "discovery of India" with a cry so outlandish, and other manifestations of joy so extravagant (one of which was pitching one of the sergeants' caps overboard) that he was instantly summoned before the officer in command, and ordered to remain below for the next twelve hours. This was, I need hardly say, a disappointment to both of us.

All day long we heard overhead the crowding of footsteps, the clanking of chains, and the banging about of baggage. The men were paraded on deck and one or two servants down where we were were very busy polishing the officers' swords. Altogether it looked as if we were not intended to remain an hour longer in Bombay than was necessary before marching to the front. Indeed, the arrival of a newspaper on board, along with the pilot, created such a ferment among the officers and men that it was evident something unusual had happened since we last heard the news.

When, towards evening, my master was allowed once more to come on deck, we were not long in discovering the cause of all this.

The Indian Mutiny, which had just broken out when we left England, had suddenly assumed enormous and hideous dimensions. The rebels, taking advantage of their first success, seemed to have gone mad with a most cruel madness. Helpless Englishwomen and children had been massacred and outraged; gallant Englishmen, overpowered by numbers, had been put to shameful deaths. One by one our strongholds had been surprised and captured; and, carrying all before them, the traitors bade fair to leave England not so much as a foothold in India.

This was enough to make the blood of the tamest among us boil with indignation, and, as the dreadful truth, bit by bit, dawned on our gallant fellows, their impatience became almost beyond control. My master was in sad peril of another arrest by reason of his excitement.

"Show me the spalpeens! Show me 'em!" roared he, almost beside himself. "Let me at 'em, Duck, ye blackguard; let me at 'em!"

And so saying he seized Mr Downie, who happened to be standing near him, and nearly shook the bones out of that unoffending hero's body.

"Do ye hear?" roared Paddy, quite out of his senses.

"I hear," said Downie, coolly, proceeding to take off his coat and tuck up his shirt-sleeves as if he were going to wash his hands.

"What's the gossoon about at all?" cried my master, taken aback by this unexpected reply to his question.

"On'y going to smash you!" calmly replied the imperturbable Duck, beginning to spar—"so come on, my lad!"

That Patrick would have joyfully accepted the invitation I have no doubt, had not an accident at that moment befallen him.

A trolly coming up behind, took him off his feet. To recover himself, he took a spring forward, and landed full on the top of the junior ensign of the regiment, a mild youth with a very little voice, and for the next minute the two were rolling, one on the top of the other, over and over, along the wet deck, amid the laughter of everybody.

By the time Paddy had picked himself up, and helped the poor young ensign to his feet, his ardour was sufficiently damped. He apologised with as good grace as he could to his late victim, and made very humble excuses to the sergeant in charge, who, fortunately for him, had witnessed that the affair was an accident.

Duck Downie, however, with his coat off and his sleeves tucked up, still awaited his man as if nothing had happened, and seemed surprised that Paddy was not as eager as before for the fray. The latter, however, quite sobered by this time, merely cried out in the hearing of everybody,—

"Arrah! Downie, darlint, ye may put on your coat, because I forgive you this onst; but, man dear, don't do it again!" and was thereby considered by everybody to have had the best of the whole adventure.

Under such dignified circumstances did we set foot on Indian soil.

The reader will be surprised that I have never yet remembered that when I last heard of him, Charlie, my first master, was in India. I did remember it often and often—during the voyage and after landing. And yet I quite despised myself for imagining (as I did) that the next white face I saw would surely be his. India is a big place—a dreadfully big place—and the chances of finding any one particular person there are about as great as of discovering a needle in a haystack. He might have left India long ago; he might have fallen in the massacres of the past few months; he might be somewhere right across the continent. And so, though I could not get rid of a vague sort of expectation, during the first few days of my being in India, I always laughed at myself for a simpleton for thinking such a chance possible.

However, we had no time for thinking just then. From the moment we landed in Bombay, and for a week or two afterwards, we were continually on the move. Long forced marches under a broiling sun, it was enough to wear out any ordinary troops. But our men, and the column to which they were now attached, formed no ordinary body of men. They were Englishmen hastening to the rescue, and nothing on earth could stop them. It was strange how slowly the news of those stirring times came to our ears.

One day we heard with a horror that I can never describe of that foul massacre at Cawnpore, where in cold blood gentle English ladies and innocent children had been brutally massacred, and their bodies flung into a well. Then the news came of the achievements of that wonderful army of relief led by Havelock.

Day after day came the news of his march on Lucknow, where our besieged fellow-countrymen lay. Every one knows of that heroic march. Inch by inch, almost, that handful of men fought their way, fighting a battle a day, and never yielding a step.

One day a horseman galloped into our camp in a great state of excitement. As he flung himself from his horse he shouted something, but we only caught the two words, "Havelock," "Lucknow." It was enough. Lucknow was saved! There rose cheer upon cheer at the news, and shout upon shout. Men and officers alike waved their hats and shook hands, Paddy, as usual, let his feelings get the better of him, and nearly broke Larry's spine with the joyful thump he gave it; indeed, it is safe to say our men were almost as proud as if they had themselves achieved the relief.

Presently, however, there spread a rumour that though Lucknow was saved, it was not yet relieved.

Havelock had fought his way in, but until help arrived, he, too, would be a prisoner within its walls; and almost in the same breath came the grand news; our column was the one destined for this glorious work! How our hearts beat! What mattered it now how long the marches were, and how grilling the sun?

"Lucknow" was the cry; and that magic word sustained us in every hardship and peril.

We reached Cawnpore at last, and there joined Sir Colin Campbell's force. The sight of this house of murder was simply maddening to the men. They left the place next morning with a sort of shudder, and set their faces towards Lucknow. It was not till we were well on the march that I had leisure to look about me and notice how our force was increased.

Several now regiments were with us, and the commander-in-chief and his staff and heavy guns and siege trains accompanied the march. With the exception of a few skirmishes, my master had yet to learn what a battle was. We crept on, halting sometimes, and sometimes pushing on, until one jubilant afternoon the distant walls of Lucknow appeared in sight. Then indeed our brave fellows began to breathe again.

To-morrow would bring them to the city walls, and—what was equally after their hearts—face to face with the enemy. We bivouacked here for the night.

Now it happened on this particular night that my master was on sentinel duty for the first time in his life, and mightily proud of his charge. There he stood as stiff as a poker, with his rifle at his side, and I verily believe would have thought nothing of running his bayonet through the body of the commander-in-chief if he had presented himself without the password.

Patrick was not a dreamer; and as he looked across in the direction of Lucknow I don't suppose his meditations were of the loftiest kind. He knew there would be a fight to-morrow, and so he was happy; he knew duty might call him to action even to-night, and so he kept a very sharp look-out at his post; but otherwise his mind was profoundly untroubled. It was not so with me. On the eve of the battle I could not but feel that in a few hours I might be ownerless, and in a dead man's pocket; and, as I looked back upon my strangely eventful life, I sighed, and half hoped, if he were slain, they would in mercy bury me with him, and so end my cares once and for all. Little I knew!

It was scarcely ten o'clock when Paddy was startled by approaching footsteps. They belonged to an officer of our force who was returning at this hour from an outpost. Paddy eyed him suspiciously, and even when he gave the word looked disappointed at not having the privilege of using his bayonet upon him. Just as he was going on his way, the officer turned and said, in a voice which startled me,—

"Is it ten yet, my man?"

Why did the voice startle me? I could not see the speaker's face, but as he spoke I fancied myself back in the Randlebury schoolroom, and my memory saw a bright-eyed boy I had known once whom I could almost have believed to be the speaker of these few words. Strange what fancies take possession of one! Patrick, as he had a watch, and had by this time learned the mysterious art of telling the time, was not the man to answer such a question as this at random.

"Hould my gun, cap'n," he said, "till I sthrike a light."

Fancy a sentinel asking an officer to hold his gun! I knew enough of military discipline to make me tremble at the thought of what would become of my unceremonious master.

But the officer, instead of flying into a rage, took the rifle and laughed. That laugh reminded me more than ever of Randlebury.

"You're a pretty fellow," he said. "Is that the manners they teach you at home."

"I axe yer pardon, colonel, but—"

Here the officer laughed again—and oh! how my heart beat as I heard him. "If I stay here much longer I shall get promoted to general, I suppose," said he. "Look sharp and tell me the time."

Patrick, without another word, produced a light. The officer's face was half turned as he did so, and I could not catch his features, but as he turned impatiently towards the sentinel the light fell full upon it, and with a bound of astonishment I recognised in the swarthy, soldierly officer before me, no other than my oldest and dearest master, Charlie Newcome, of Randlebury.

The strange presentiment, then, was true—I had found him after so long a time! But what if he should not see me? What torment to be so near and yet so far! And how was it likely he would take notice of a common private's watch, and if he did, how was it likely at this distance of time he would remember poor me? Jim, I know, had told him of the strange way in which I had come into his hands, and would certainly have also told him about losing me. He must, therefore, long ago have given up all thoughts about me, or if he ever remembered me it would be as one dead.

My master took me out and held me up to the light.

"It'll be about five minutes past ten, your honour, by my watch."

"Thank you. Good—hullo?"

He had seen me! His eyes were suddenly riveted upon me, and he seemed glued to the spot where he stood.

"Did your honour plaze to spake?" asked Paddy, proceeding to put me back into his pocket.

"My old watch!" cried Charlie, springing forward, and catching hold of my master's hand. "Give it to me!"

Paddy's surprise was unbounded. At first he deemed the man mad, then drunk, then gradually it dawned upon him this was not an officer at all, but a highwayman in disguise, seeking to take advantage of his solitude to rob him.

In an instant he sprang back, and, seizing his rifle, levelled the bayonet to within an inch of Charlie's heart.

"Now, ye thievin' blackguard," said he, "move an inch and I'll stick ye like a pig. Arrah! but ye came to the wrong boy when ye thought to play your tricks on me! Stan' still now, or as sure as you're alive you're a dead man;" and he gave Charlie a suggestive touch with the point of his weapon, which showed plainly he had every intention of being as good as his word.

Here was a predicament! and I could do nothing to help.

Charlie, fairly penned in a corner, was at a loss what to say or do. He began in an angry strain,—

"Don't be a fool, sir; do you—"

"Howld yer tongue!" roared Paddy, giving another poke with his bayonet.

Then Charlie attempted to laugh, which enraged the sentry all the more.

"Is it mock me, ye would, as well as rob me, ye foul-mouthed spalpeen, you?" he cried.

"I don't want to rob you," put in Charlie.

"Faith and I'll see ye don't," retorted the Irishman.

"Listen to me an instant," besought Charlie.

"The sorra a word. Ye shall say it all before the gineral the morrow, for there I'll take ye."

For some moments Charlie stood in this awkward fix, not daring to stir, or even to speak, and with every prospect of spending the night with a bayonet point within an inch of his body.

Suddenly, however, a brilliant idea occurred to him. If I really was his old watch, as he fancied, this man had possibly found me where Halliday had lost me.

It was a bare chance every way, but he determined to try it.

"So you are from Seatown!" he suddenly exclaimed.

The rifle literally dropped from the astonished sentry's hand.

"Who told ye that?" he almost shrieked.

"Never mind," said Charlie, following up the advantage, and softly stepping out of his corner. "It's two years since you left, isn't it?"

Patrick was "dumfoundered." This man must be in league, surely, with the powers of darkness!

"Now do you know why I want that watch?" said Charlie sternly, at the same time quietly picking up the dropped rifle. The tables were fairly turned now. The wretched Patrick, whose conscience had more than once smitten him about the way in which he had become possessed of me, looked the picture of terror—not at the bayonet, but at the man who held it.

He drew me from his pocket with trembling hands, and holding me out at arm's length, cried,—

"Arrah, arrah! take him, gineral, take him. How was I to know you was the gentleman dropped him there? Who'd have—"

By this time Charlie had seized me and taken me to the light. In an instant he stripped me of my coat, and there, with bounding heart, read his own initials, scratched years ago with his own boyish hand, in the dormitory of Randlebury.

"It is it!" he shouted; "my old watch! Who would have thought it possible!"

Then turning to the trembling Paddy, he said, in a voice almost unsteady in its eagerness,—

"My man, what will you sell me this watch for?"

Paddy looked more astonished than ever.

"Sure it's your honour's own."

"It was once, but it's yours now. But I'll give you a ten-pound note for him and a gold watch besides if you'll let me have him back."

Imagine Paddy's astonishment.

"Sure Duck Downie says it's not worth thirty shillings—"

"Who cares for Duck Downie?" shouted Charlie, pulling out his purse. "Here's the money, and if you come to Lieutenant Newcome's tent when you are off duty you shall have the watch."

And so saying, and not waiting for another word, he darted off, with me still in his hands, leaving Paddy fairly stupefied with amazement, and with only presence of mind enough left to pick up his rifle and make a royal salute to the retreating form of my first and last and dearest master.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

HOW I SAVED MY MASTER'S LIFE, AND RETIRED FROM ACTIVE SERVICE.

I may with truth say, I reached that night the happiest moment in my life.

Indeed, as the young officer walked on, with me held tight in his hand, it would be hard to say which of us two was the happier.

Charlie's soldier life had not turned out as happily as, long ago, he had pictured it to himself. Away from home, and with comparatively few friends, he had felt himself losing somewhat of his freshness and boyish enthusiasm, and settling down rather to habits of a humdrum commonplace official. Books he had very few, and congenial society still less. Quartered as he had been during the first two years in dull country stations, he had grown weary of the routine of everyday life, and longed for the sight of fresh faces, fresh scenes, fresh occupation.

After a while this desire was gratified in his removal to Calcutta. But if he had suffered from dulness and weariness before, he was now in danger of going to another extreme. In his first joy at getting back into lively society he rushed with ardour into all the attractions and gaieties of the capital. Not that Charlie was a fellow ever to make the same mistakes as Tom Drift. He never associated with companions he knew to be bad, or allowed himself to be led into scenes which were in the slightest degree discreditable. But he did enter rather too readily into the frivolities of his new quarters, at the expense of his peace of mind. His popularity was his greatest snare. Everywhere he went he became a favourite. People were eager to get him to join their parties, and he was often enough too good-natured to refuse. And thus Charlie wasted much of his time, and in the end found himself far more dissatisfied with himself than in the quiet monotony of his up-country duties.

Do not let me do him injustice, reader, in my account of him during those few weeks at Calcutta.

He was gay but not fast, frivolous though not dissipated. His errors were errors of unprofitableness, but never of viciousness. Even in his most frivolous moments he had never been anything but a gentleman and a good fellow. Still, it had been unsatisfactory, and he knew it to be so in his inmost soul.

In the midst of this life came the mutiny, and, like hundreds of others, Charlie leapt at the call of duty, and flung to the winds all those attractions which had held him captive during the weeks of his idleness. Like hundreds of others his blood boiled at the tragedies of that awful time, and now, of all the rescuing host, there was not one who loved his own life less, or his country's glory more, than Charlie Newcome.

And thus it was with him when I found him.

But to-night, whatever may have been the memories, and hopes, and regrets which secretly animated his breast in finding himself again possessed of his boyish treasure and the companion of so many of his happiest days, Charlie Newcome had no leisure to sit down and spend his time in passive contemplation. He had a report to make to his colonel, and an important despatch to carry to the commander-in-chief. Then there was the ammunition to be served out among his men, and he had to superintend the process. And there were the plans for next day's assault to be talked over with his brother officers, and the various detachments for that duty to be selected. So that Charlie was a busy man that night. But with what a light heart he laboured! Among his occupations he did not forget the gold watch, but had the satisfaction of making Paddy the happiest man (but one) in the camp.

Thus, first with one thing, then another, the night wore on; and, when towards morning he lay down on his camp bed for a hurried rest, he fell asleep like a child, whistling one of the old Randlebury songs, and with me, as of old, under his pillow.

At the first note of the bugle he sprang from his couch, and putting me in my old abode, next his heart, sallied out to see the preparations for the advance. It was generally known we were to make a dash for the approaches to Lucknow this day; and at the prospect of the attack the troops hailed the signal to get under arms with enthusiasm. It was plain to see, by the alacrity with which the men worked, that my master was a prime favourite in his own company; indeed, such was their promptitude that we stood ready and waiting long before the order to march arrived.

During this interval, if Charlie was seized with a desire to know the time once, he was seized twenty times; and each time a mere glance was not enough to satisfy him. How natural it all seemed, and how like old times!

Then came the longed-for signal, and with a cheer the men set their faces towards Lucknow.

Now, the reader must not expect I am going to describe military operations for his edification. I know nothing about columns and countermarches, and echelons and skirmishing; how could a watch, hid under a scarlet jacket, be expected to do so?

True, I had eyes that could penetrate any number of scarlet jackets, but what good was that when I knew about as much of the art of war as I did of candle-making!

But there are some things in the events of that memorable day which I shall remember as long as I live.

After about an hour's march we were suddenly halted, and almost at the same moment there came the sullen boom of a gun ahead. I could feel Charlie's heart leap at the sound. It was the enemy at last; and now the fate of Lucknow was to be decided.

A horseman dashed up to the head of our column and called out to our colonel, in a voice loud enough for us all to hear, "Bring up your battalion." Next moment we were advancing in double quick time through a lane of troops to the front. There two other regiments stood waiting, and almost the instant we arrived the whole body moved forward at a run.

It was an exciting moment. The enemy's guns sounded louder and more frequent ahead, and dropping shot at either side announced that our danger was not all in front. The pace was kept up for a hundred yards or so, until we reached a cluster of trees, in whose shelter the column was halted to get breath. The fire in front still kept up, and through the smoke I thought I could discern the dim outline of a low building, not five hundred yards distant. At this moment Charlie and the other officers were summoned to the front for orders. They were brief and to the point.

"Straight for the fort, there!" said the commanding officer, "the shortest way you can take your men!"

It was an order that meant certain death to scores of those brave fellows; yet when they had heard it they cheered as schoolboys cheer for a holiday.

Again we stood waiting. The officers with their swords drawn stepped in front. The men quickly loaded and fixed bayonets, and then came the shout,—

"Forward!"

As we cleared the trees we burst full in the face of the enemy's fire. For a moment the balls whizzed harmlessly over our heads, then there was a crash on the ground before us, and, as we rushed on, the men parted on either side to avoid stepping over a dying man. It was awful; and every step we took grew more and more fatal. Under that withering fire men went down by the dozen; yet still the column rushed on. The front rank broke into gaps, which the rear rank men dashed forward to fill, till they themselves fell. And still on we rushed. Officers, too, everywhere to the front, dropped one by one; but still we never checked our pace. The sullen walls of the fort stood clear before us and poured upon us an unceasing shower of bullet and ball. In a minute our foremost men would be at the walls.

"Forward now! follow me!" I heard Charlie cry; and looking round noticed for the first time that the captain of his company was missing. The men cheered by way of answer, and their run broke into a rush as they followed him under the guns. Others were at the fort before us, and the storm had already begun. Heedless of wounds, heedless of peril, the men swept towards the breach, and called on those behind to come on. Charlie was one of the earliest of our battalion there, and already his feet were in the place, and he was waving to his men to come up when—

I felt a dull crushing sensation. My nerves collapsed; my senses left me. Speech, sight, hearing, all failed me in an instant; a strange darkness came over me, and then I was conscious of nothing.

————————————————————————————————————

When my senses slowly and wearily recovered I was still lying in my master's pocket in the place where he had fallen at the storming of the breach. Firing was still going on all around, but the shouts of our men rose now from inside the fort instead of outside. And what shouting it was! The enemy's guns ceased as if by magic, and the distant sounds of firing showed plainly enough that the main body, now that we had silenced the fort, was resuming its march on Lucknow.

All this flashed through me as my senses gradually returned, and before even I had time to contemplate my own condition. What a wreck I was! A helpless cripple past all healing, of no use to any one, and utterly incapable of resuming the ordinary duties of life. But almost before I could realise this, another care flashed through my mind and drove out every other.

My master! What of him? There he lay, motionless and pale, with his blue eyes closed, and a little stream of blood trickling down his chest. Could he be dead?

Anxiously I listened if his heart still beat. At first all seemed silent as death. Then there seemed a slight quiver, and as I listened still, a faint throb. He lived still! How I longed for help to come!

And before long it came. Two soldiers of Charlie's regiment came out of the fort and walked straight towards us.

"It was close to the breach he dropped," said one.

"Come on, then," said the other, "and we may be in time."

They were not long in finding the object of their search, and leant eagerly over him.

"He's dead, poor fellow!" said the first; "shot right through the heart!"

"So he is," said the other. "It must have—wait a bit!" cried he, in sudden excitement. "Feel here, Tom, quick! he's alive yet! Oh, if we could only get hold of a doctor!"

"Is there one about at all?"

"Not that I know of, unless the Major knows what to do."

Just then there came up a gaunt man, in an undress uniform, who, seeing that they knelt over a wounded man, said,—

"Is he alive?"

"It's all he is, sir," replied one of the men; "and we're wondering how to get a doctor to him."

"Let me see," said the stranger, approaching the body.

He knelt beside it and gently removed the coat from the wound.

"It looks as if he must be shot through the heart. Stay a bit, though, here's a watch!" and he pulled me softly out of the pocket. As he did so I looked up at him. Surely I knew his face! Surely somewhere I had seen that troubled frightened face before! Then I remembered Seatown Gaol! Could this be Tom Drift here in India, and kneeling beside his old schoolfellow's body?

It was indeed Tom Drift! But he neither recognised me nor the wounded man before him; indeed he was too busy examining the latter's wound to look very closely at his face. As he removed the waistcoat he uttered an exclamation of astonishment.

"A most wonderful thing," he said; "the bullet, which must have been a spent one, has struck his watch and turned aside. A most wonderful escape!"

And then he produced a box of instruments, with one of which he probed the wound, and after some trouble extracted the bullet. Then, bandaging up the place, he said,—

"He may do now, but he has lost a lot of blood. Let him lie here a bit, and presently, if he seems better, move him into the fort. I will see him again this evening."

And so saying, he passed on to the next prostrate figure.

Towards evening the two men tenderly lifted their officer in their arms and carried him inside the fort, where a rude hospital had been fitted up. Here Charlie, who, after the extraction of the bullet and staunching of blood, had shown symptoms of recovery, opened his eyes, and found himself able to say a few words to those round him. And when they told him how I had probably saved his life his face lit up with a most triumphant smile, and he asked that I might be put into his hand.

As he lay there, scarcely strong enough to speak, and fondling me in his fingers, the doctor entered the hospital.

He came straight to Charlie's bed. My master's eyes were closed when Tom first reached his side; and I could see by the face of the latter that he was still as far from recognising his old schoolfellow as ever. But directly Tom softly lifted the clothes in order to examine his wound, the patient woke and opened his eyes. They rested for a moment on the doctor's face, and then, with a sudden flush and start, he half raised himself in his bed, and exclaimed,—

"Tom Drift, is it you?"

The doctor thus unexpectedly hearing his own name pronounced, turned pale, and started back as if he had been shot. The scared, terrified look returned to his face, and for an instant he seemed as if he would rush from the place. But only for an instant.

As he looked again on the face of his patient a strange expression came over his own. Wonder, doubt, joy, succeeded each other in rapid succession, and then all of a sudden it flashed upon him who this was.

"Charlie!" he exclaimed, trembling with astonishment; and next moment the poor prodigal was on his knees beside his friend's bed, sobbing, with his head buried in his hands.

Don't laugh at him, reader, for thus forgetting himself. Tom Drift had been through many trials you know nothing about, and out of those trials he had come broken in spirit and as humble as a child. You might have had more regard for appearances, perhaps, and controlled your emotion genteelly; but, as I have said before, Tom Drift was not anything like so strong-minded as you. So he knelt there and sobbed; and Charlie, as he lay, took his hand into his own, and held it.

Presently he said, softly, "Tom!"

Tom looked up and rose to his feet.

"What, old fellow?"

"Look here, Tom!" said Charlie, showing me.

At the sight of me, bruised and battered as I was, Tom's feelings overcame him again. He seized me eagerly, and looked long and tenderly into my face; then his tears came again, and once more he sunk on his knees at Charlie's side and buried his face in his hands.

The place was getting dark. The noise of voices outside and the distant roar of guns slowly died away; the guards for the night were called out, and one by one soldier and invalid fell asleep after their hard day's toil. But Tom Drift never moved from Charlie's bedside, nor did Charlie, by word or movement, disturb him. In the silence of that night I seemed to be back in the past—when, years ago, I first knew these two. The dreary hospital changed, in my imagination, into the old Randlebury dormitory.

These beds all round were occupied not by wounded soldiers, but by soundly-sleeping boys, worn out with sports or study. And the two between whom I lay were no longer suffering men, but the light-hearted lads of long ago. I could almost fancy myself ticking through the silent watches; and when now and then the fingers that held me closed over me, or fondled me tenderly, I could almost have believed I heard the low sweet whistling of an innocent boy as he furtively turned in his waking moments to his father's precious gift.

It all seemed so strangely natural that as I woke from my dream it required an effort to remember where I really was. All was silent around me. I peered first at my master, then at Tom Drift; they were both asleep—sleeping, perhaps, as simply as ever they did in those bygone days—Tom kneeling still by the bedside with his head upon his arms, and Charlie turned towards him with one hand upon his friend's, and I—I lay between them.

Thus the sultry Indian night passed, and then at the little window opposite there came a faint gleam of light.

Charlie woke first, and, laying his hand gently on Tom's arm, said, "Tom Drift, old fellow!"

With a start and a bound Tom was awake and on his feet, staring in a bewildered way round him.

At last his eyes fell on Charlie, and he remembered where he was. "I was asleep and dreaming," he said.

"So was I," said Charlie—and I could almost guess what their dreams had been.

"Now, Tom," said Charlie, "you must look to my wound."

"My poor boy!" exclaimed Tom; "to think I have forgotten it all this time!"

"It's not worth bothering about, after all," said my master, "But see, Tom, the day is breaking."

"Ay!" said Tom, looking down with a new light in his weary eyes, "the day is breaking!"



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

WHICH BRINGS MY ADVENTURES TO A CLOSE.

Reader, be my companion in one scene more, and my story is done.

A month or two ago there was a grand merrymaking at the house of one Charles Newcome, Esquire, late captain in her Majesty's army, to celebrate the tenth birthday of his son, Master Thomas James Newcome. The company was mostly juvenile, and included, of course, the gallant captain's two little girls and his younger son, that most terrible of all Turks, Charlie the younger. Then there were all the little boys and girls living in the square, and many others from a distance, and one or two big boys and girls, and one or two young gentlemen who stroked their chins as if something was to be felt there, and one or two young ladies who would not take twice of sponge-cake, for fear of looking as if they were hungry. But besides these there were a few grown-up people present, whom I must not forget to name. Naturally the gallant captain was one, and the gallant captain's lady was another; and then there were the last-named lady's two brothers there, one a clergyman called the Reverend James Halliday, and the other (and elder) Mr Joseph Halliday, a civil engineer with a ferocious pair of whiskers. And, to complete the party, there was present a grave, anxious-looking gentleman by the name of Mr Drift, a surgeon.

These all sat apart and looked on while the young folk enjoyed themselves. And how the young folk did enjoy themselves that night! What shouting and laughter there was, what a jingling of the piano, what hiding in corners, what romping on the stair case! And the round games, and the charades, and the family posts! Oh dear me, I'm an old watch, and I've gone through a good many noisy scenes, but I never remember such a racket as this.

And how the young folk besieged the elder and compelled them to join in the fun. There was papa down on his hands and knees with half-a-dozen youngsters on his back. And there was Uncle Joseph performing tricks of conjuring before a select audience; and Mr Drift telling stories to another; and as for the reverend Uncle Jim, he was made blind man, and had his long coat-tails pulled; and, strange to say, he never caught anybody all the time. And then the supper! who shall describe that? the clattering of dishes, the rattle of knives and forks, the banging of crackers, the peals of laughter, and the cross-fire of chaff.

Alas! all good things must come to an end, and so did this party. One by one the little guests said good-bye, and after they had gone the little family of children and elders was left alone. Though it was past eleven, the little urchin Charlie insisted on clambering on to Mr Drift's knee, to hear one last story, and the little girls besieged their uncles, and put their arms round their necks, and besought their intercession with mamma to gain them another half-hour's respite down stairs.

"Charlie," said Tom Drift, "this little fellow is worrying me for a story. Suppose you tell one."

"Oh yes," shouted that small chorus. "Oh yes! papa, please tell us a story?"

"Hear, hear!" said Uncle Joe.

"Fire away," said Uncle Jim.

"Remember, it must be quite a short one, Charles," said mamma.

Charlie Newcome the elder looked puzzled for a minute, and fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

Then he turned to his eldest boy, and said,—

"Tom, open that cabinet there and bring me the watch that is under the glass-case."

"The old, ugly watch, papa?" asked the boy, running off on his errand.

"Yes, the old, ugly watch," said papa, with a queer sort of smile.

The boy brought me. I was taken out of my case, and lay there in his open hand.

"Once upon a time," began papa—and what a hush fell on that little company!—"once upon a time there was a little boy,"—why was it everyone but the children looked so grave? and why did Mr Drift push his chair back into the shadow? why, even, did papa's voice tremble now and then as he went on, and caught the eye first of one and then another of his listeners?

That night he told my story—not as I have told it to you. There was not much about Mr Drift in the story he told, and a great deal less about himself than there might have been. But as he went on these children crowded round me and looked with awe upon my battered body, and read with reverence those quaintly-scratched initials, and as they followed me in imagination from one master to another, and from one peril to the next, ending up with the famous battle before Lucknow, they forgot I was old and ugly, and I gradually appeared to their little eyes one of the greatest treasures which their father's house contained.

"And here he lies in my hand, children," concluded papa; "and if you love him as much as I do you must be very fond of him. And now, good- night, all of you."

THE END.