"I hope to get shot soon, sir," said Private Richard Doubledick; "and
then the regiment and the world together will be rid of me."

The legs of the table were becoming very crooked. Doubledick, looking up
to steady his vision, met the eyes that had so strong an influence over
him. He put his hand before his own eyes, and the breast of his disgrace-
jacket swelled as if it would fly asunder.

"I would rather," said the young Captain, "see this in you, Doubledick,
than I would see five thousand guineas counted out upon this table for a
gift to my good mother. Have you a mother?"

"I am thankful to say she is dead, sir."

"If your praises," returned the Captain, "were sounded from mouth to
mouth through the whole regiment, through the whole army, through the
whole country, you would wish she had lived to say, with pride and joy,
'He is my son!'"

"Spare me, sir," said Doubledick. "She would never have heard any good
of me. She would never have had any pride and joy in owning herself my
mother. Love and compassion she might have had, and would have always
had, I know but not--Spare me, sir! I am a broken wretch, quite at your
mercy!" And he turned his face to the wall, and stretched out his
imploring hand.

"My friend--" began the Captain.

"God bless you, sir!" sobbed Private Richard Doubledick.