hing orders as you
have took 'em, I am quite reconciled to parting with these here snug
quarters, barring only--a book-shelf, and a cup-board."

"Cupboard!" returned Peterday with a snort of disdain, "why there never
was such a ill-contrived, lubberly cupboard as that, in all the world;
you can't get at it unless you lay over to port,--on account o' the
clothes-press, and then hard a starboard,--on account o' the
dresser,--and then it being in the darkest corner--"

"True Peterday, but then I'm used to it, and use is everything as you
know,--I can lay my hand upon anything--in a minute--watch me!" Saying
which, the Sergeant squeezed himself between the press and the dresser,
opened the cupboard, and took thence several articles which he named,
each in order.

"A pair o' jack-boots,--two brushes,--blacking,--and a burnisher."
Having set these down, one by one, upon the dresser, he wheeled, and
addressed himself to Bellew, as follows:

"Mr. Bellew, sir,--this evening being the anniversary of a
certain--event, sir, I will ask you--to excuse me--while I make the
necessary preparations--to honour this anniversary--as is ever my
custom." As he ended, he dropped the two brushes, the blacking, and the
burnisher inside the legs of the boots, picked them up with a sweep of
the arm, and, turning short round, strode out into the little garden.

"A fine fellow is Dick, sir!" nodded Peterday, beginning to fill a long
clay pipe, "Lord!--what a sailor he 'd ha' made, to be sure!--failing
which he's as fine a soldier as ever was, or will be, with enough
war-medals to fill my Sunday hat, sir. When he lost his arm they gave
him the V.C., and his discharge, sir,--because why--because a soldier
wi' one arm ain't any more good than a sailor wi' one leg, d'ye see. So
they tried to discharge Dick, but--Lord love you!--they couldn't,
sir,--because why?--because Dick were a soldier bred and born, and is as
much a soldier to-day, as ever he was,--ah! and always will be--until he
goes marching aloft,--like poor Tom Bowling,--until one as is General of
all the armies, and Admiral of all the fleets as ever sailed, shall call
the last muster roll, sir. At this present moment, sir," continued the
sailor, lighting his pipe with a live coal from the fire, "my messmate
is a-sitting to the leeward o' the plum tree outside, a polishing of his
jack-boots,--as don't need polishing, and a burnishing of his spurs,--as
don't need burnishing. And because wh