thiopia and see if a hot breakfast is not waiting for
us there. These boys would rather stay here and load this cannon."

"No sir, no sir!" replied Harry, "we must load our own personal guns,
for we mean to make our _report_ this afternoon."

Laughing over that threat to our tutors, we went with them to breakfast,
which we found ready as soon as our morning prayers were read. Clump
brought in the dishes--Clump in uniform--and I never saw a funnier
figure in my life. The coat was once my grandfather's--a colonel of
West India Militia, I believe. Now my grandfather had been a rather
short man, but very broad and stout, particularly round the stomach.
Old Clump was tall and thin as a spectre, so the epaulettes fell over
his shoulders, the waist flapped loosely eight inches above his
trousers, and the short swallow-tails did not sufficiently cover the
spot which the venerable darky usually placed on the chair to hide a
patch, the bigness of a frying-pan and of a different material from the
breeches themselves, that Juno's affectionate care had strengthened her
liege lord's garments with--which garments, far more pastoral than
military, and forced by suspenders as near the coat as Clump's anatomy
otherwise would allow, failed by three inches of woollen stocking to
meet his shoes. When you think how comical the excellent, old,
white-woolled darky appeared, remember, too, that he was perfectly
unconscious, until our laughter startled him, that he was not becomingly
attired.

As our irrepressible appreciation of the fun was shouted out, Clump did
not realise at first that he was its cause, but when he did all the
pride and alacrity died from his face in an instant. In a bewildered,
palsied way he put down the dish he carried, and, heaving a sad sigh,
drew himself up until the rheumatic spine must have twinged, and, fixing
his eyes on some point far above our head, stood in motionless dignity.

Even Mr Clare had laughed, but, recovering equanimity immediately that
he saw how deeply Clump was wounded, he said:

"Boys, stop that laughing." He might have addressed his reproof to the
Captain, too, for he was in paroxysms, and had his face buried in the
countless flags of that great red silk bandanna of his. "Is it so very
funny to see Clump doing honour to a day once so big with the fate of
England and the world? Had the Allies been beaten at Waterloo, what
might not have become of our beloved country? Instead of Napol