"There's no doubt about it, it is a grind, an awful grind," he one day
admitted in muttered tones to himself. "But I'll stick to it. It comes
easier to me every day, and who knows what the knowledge may do for me?
Interpreters will certainly be required, though to imagine myself one is
flying rather high."

On parade, at musketry practice, everywhere he would repeat sentences in
low tones, and would attempt to put the orders for the soldiers into
Russian. Then, at the first opportunity, he and the clerk who had so
befriended him would retire to the latter's room and there carry on a
long conversation, in which no English was admitted on pain of a small
fine. Thus, as the days passed, his proficiency increased, till he was
almost competent to find his way through the heart of Russia without
much difficulty, so far as the language was concerned.

But a far from unexpected interruption occurred. France and England
were on the eve of despatching an ultimatum to Russia, and the usually
placid life of the Guards was disturbed by orders to embark for active
service.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

GOOD-BYE TO OLD ENGLAND.

What excitement there was! What bustle and hard work! Though the
brigade of Guards had for long expected, and indeed anxiously awaited,
orders to prepare for embarkation, when at last the time did actually
arrive, they found still hosts of matters to be dealt with.

Men had to be examined as to their physical fitness for rough work in
the field; kits had to be looked to, new boots issued, and a
hundred-and-one points attended to. Then there were good-byes to be
said, for many of those fine, brave lads, the last they would ever have
an opportunity of saying, for the Crimea was to claim them, and the
deep-trodden mire and mud of the heights round Sebastopol was destined
to form a covering for thousands--thousands, alas! of England's bravest
soldiers. And the Queen--God bless her!--she too must take leave of her
Guards, and wish them a safe return.

Ah! it was a grand time, and books on Russian were forgotten in the
whirl Phil had too many other things to think about. True, he had few
friends to part with, and in that he was to be congratulated, for
partings are ever painful; but he had hosts of duties to carry out, and
his services in the office of the orderly-room were daily in
requisition.

"I never see such a time," grumbled Tony disgustedly. "I never get a
word with yer now, young un. You're