en yon man is? What has keepit me from being an officer,
that had served my country in twa battles when oor quartermaster hadna
enlisted? Wha gets my money? What lost me my stripes? What loses me
decent folks' respect and, waur than that, my ain? What gars a hand that
can grip a broadsword tremble like a woman's? What fills the canteen and
the kirkyard? What robs a man of health and wealth and peace? What
ruins weans and women, and makes mair homes desolate than war? Drink,
man, drink! The deevil of drink!"

It was not till the glare in his eyes had paled that John Broom ventured
to speak. Then he said,--

"Why don't ye give it up, M'Alister?"

The man rose to his full height, and laid his hand heavily on the boy's
shoulder, and his eyes seemed to fade with that pitiful, weary look,
which only such blue eyes show so well, "Because I _canna_" said he;
"because, for as big as I am, I canna. But for as little as you are,
laddie, ye can, and, Heaven help me, ye shall."

That evening he called John Broom into the barrack-room where he slept.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, and had a little wooden money-box
in his hands.

"What money have ye, laddie?" he asked.

John Broom pulled out three halfpence lately earned, and the Scotchman
dropped them slowly into the box. Then he turned the key, and put it
into his pocket, and gave the box to the boy.

"Ye'll put what ye earn in there," said he, "I'll keep the key, and
ye'll keep the box yoursel; and when it's opened we'll open it together,
and lay out your savings in decent clothes for ye against the winter."

At this moment some men passing to the canteen shouted, "M'Alister?" The
Highlander did not answer, but he started to the door. Then he stood
irresolute, and then turned and reseated himself.

"Gang and bring me a bit o' tobacco," he said, giving John Broom a
penny. And when the boy had gone he emptied his pocket of the few pence
left, and dropped them into the box, muttering, "If he manna, I wunna."

And when the tobacco came, he lit his pipe, and sat on the bench
outside, and snarled at every one who spoke to him.

OUTPOST DUTY.--THE SERGEANT'S STORY.--GRAND ROUNDS.

It was a bitterly cold winter. The soldiers drank a great deal, and John
Broom was constantly trotting up and down, and the box grew very heavy.

Bottles were filled and refilled, in spite of greatly increased
strictness in the discipline of the garrison, for there were rumours of
in