like a frog on a pave-stone. No. I wud not hurry, though, God
knows, my heart was all in Pindi. Love-o'-Women saw fwhat was in
my mind, an' 'Go on, Terence,' h sez, 'I know fwhat's waitin' for
you.' 'I will not,' I sez. "Twill kape a little yet.'

"Ye know the turn of the pass forninst Jumrood and the nine mile
road on the flat to Peshawur? All Peshawur was along that road day
and night waitin' for frinds - men, women, childer, and bands.
Some av the throops was camped
round Jumrood, an' some went on to Peshawur to get away down to
their cantonmints. We came through in the early mornin', havin'
been awake the night through, and we dhruv sheer into the middle
av the mess. Mother av Glory, will I ever forget that comin' back?
The light was not fair lifted, and the furst we heard was 'For
'tis my delight av a shiny night,' frum a band that thought we was
the second four comp'nies av the Lincolnshire. At that we was
forced to sind them a yell to say who we was, an' thin up wint
'The wearin' av the Green.' It made me crawl all up my backbone,
not havin' taken my brequist. Thin, right smash into our rear,
came fwhat was left av the Jock Elliotts - wid four pipers an' not
half a kilt among thim, playin' for the dear life, an' swingin'
their rumps like buck rabbits, an' a native rig'mint shrieking
blue murther. Ye niver heard the like. There was men cryin' like
women that did - an' faith I do not blame thim. Fwhat bruk me down
was the Lancers' Band - shinin' an' spick like angels, wid the
ould dhrum-horse at the head an' the silver kettle-dhrums an' all
an' all, waitin' for their men that was behind us. They shtruck up
the Cavalry Canter, an', begad, those poor ghosts that had not a
sound fut in a throop they answered to ut, the men rockin' in
their saddles. We thried to cheer them as they wint by, but ut