The long-drawn-out, sweet notes of "Reveille" rang out in the frosty
dawn. Reg. No. ---- Const George Redmond, engaged at that moment in
pulling on his "fatigue-slacks" hummed the trumpet-call's time-honoured
vocal parody--

"_I sold a cow, I sold a cow, an' bought a donk-ee--'
Oh--what--a silly old sot you were_!"

The room buzzed like a drowsy hive with hastily dressing men. Breathing
hotly on the frosted window-pane next his cot, George rubbed a clear
patch and glued his eye to it. The blizzard had died out during the
night leaving the snow-drifted landscape frosty, still and clear. A
rapidly widening strip of blended rose and pale turquoise on the eastern
horizon gave promise of a fine day.

He turned away with a contented sigh and, descending the stairs, fell in
with the rest of the fur-coated, moccasined men on "Morning Stable
Parade."

Three hours later, breakfast despatched, blankets rolled and kit and
dunnage bags packed, he received a curt summons from the sergeant-major
to attend the Orderly-room. To the brisk word of command he was
"quick-_marched_" "left-_wheeled_," and "halted" at "attention" before
the desk of the Officer Commanding L. Division.

"Constable Redmond, Sir!" announced the deep-throated, rumbling bass of
the sergeant-major; and for some seconds George gazed at the silvery hair
and wide bowed shoulders of the seated figure in front of him, who
continued his perusal of some type-written sheets of foolscap, as if