mob, with scarcely an old soldier in their ranks, be pounded, within
the space of a few months, into the Seventh (Service) Battalion of the
Bruce and Wallace Highlanders--one of the most famous regiments in the
British Army?

The Colonel's boyish figure stiffens.

"They're a rough crowd," he murmurs, "and a tough crowd: but they're
a stout crowd. By gad! we'll make them a credit to the Old Regiment
yet!"




II

THE DAILY GRIND


We have been in existence for more than three weeks now, and
occasionally we are conscious of a throb of real life. Squad drill is
almost a thing of the past, and we work by platoons of over fifty men.
To-day our platoon once marched, in perfect step, for seven
complete and giddy paces, before disintegrating into its usual
formation--namely, an advance in irregular _échelon_, by individuals.

Four platoons form a company, and each platoon is (or should be) led
by a subaltern, acting under his company commander. But we are very
short of subalterns at present. (We are equally short of N.C.O.'s;
but then you can always take a man out of the ranks and christen him