fellow as wore the Queen's uniform in 1854. He had an open, honest
face, handsome withal; clear bright grey eyes, broad forehead, and a
firm mouth and chin.

"Worrying yourself, as usual, for permission to have your throat cut.
Can't you bide your time, Sergeant McKay?"

The answer came from another sergeant of the same regiment, an elder,
sterner man--a veteran evidently, for he wore two medals for Indian
campaigns, and his bronzed, weather-beaten face showed that he had
seen service in many climes. As a soldier he was in no wise inferior
to his comrade: his uniform and appointments were as clean and
correct, but he lacked the extra polish--the military dandyism, so to
speak--of the younger man.

"War is our regular trade. Isn't it natural we should want to be at
it?" said Sergeant McKay.

"You talk like a youngster who doesn't know what it's like," replied
Sergeant Hyde. "I've seen something of campaigning, and it's rough
work at the best, even in India, where soldiers are as well off as
officers here."

"Officers!" said McKay, rather bitterly. "They have the best of it
everywhere."

"Hush! don't be an insubordinate young idiot," interposed his comrade,
hastily. "Here come two of them."

The sergeants sprang hastily to their feet, and, standing strictly to