"Sixteen," Jack replied.

"Then they had no right to take you," the sergeant said; "seventeen's
the earliest age, and as a rule soldiers ain't much good till they
are past twenty. You would have a right to get off if you could prove
your age; but of course you could not do that without witnesses or
papers, and it's an old game for recruits who look young to try to
pass as under age."

"I shan't try," Jack answered; "I have made up my mind to it now,
and there's an end to it. But why ain't soldiers any good till they
are past twenty, sergeant? As far as I can see, boys are just as
brave as men."

"Just as brave, my lad, and when it comes to fighting the young
soldier is very often every bit as good as the old one; but they
can't stand fatigue and hardship like old soldiers. A boy will
start out on as long a walk as a man can take, but he can't keep
it up day after day. When it comes to long marches, to sleeping on
the ground in the wet, bad food, and fever from the marshes, the
young soldier breaks down, the hospital gets full of boys, and they
just die off like flies, while the older men pull through."

"You are a Job's comforter, I must say," Jack said with a laugh;
"but I must hope that I shan't have long marches, and bad food,
and damp weather, and marsh fever till I get a bit older."

"I don't want to discourage you," the sergeant remarked, "and you
know there are young soldiers and young soldiers. There are the
weedy, narrow chested chaps as seems to be made special for filling