our lines--go up and see if you can find
Mueller."

Tam dressed slowly. Behind the mask of his face, God knows what sorrow
lay, for he was fond of the boy, as he had been fond of so many boys who
had gone up in the joy and pride of their youth, and had earned by the
supreme sacrifice that sinister line in the communiques: "One of our
machines did not return."

He ranged the heavens that day seeking his man. He waited temptingly in
reachable places and even lured one of his enemies to attack him.

"There's something down," said Blackie, as a flaming German aeroplane
shot downward from the clouds. "But I'm afraid it's not Mueller this
time."

It was not. Tam returned morose and uncommunicative. His anger was
increased when the intercepted wireless came to hand in the evening:

"Captain Mueller shot down his twenty-seventh aeroplane."

That night, when the mess was sitting around after dinner, Tam appeared
with a big armful of cigars.

"What's the matter with 'em?" asked Blackie in mock alarm.

"They're a' that Mister Carter bocht," said Tam untruthfully, "an' A'
thocht ye'd wish to ha'e a few o' the laddie's seegairs."

Nobody was deceived. They pooled the cigars for the mess and Tam went
back to his quarters lighter of heart. He slept soundly and was wakened
an hour before dawn by his batman.

"'The weary roond, the deely task,'" quoted Tam, taking the steaming mug
of tea from his servant's hands. "What likes the mornin', Horace?"

"Fine, Sergeant--clear sky an' all the stars are out."

"Fine for them," said Tam sarcastically, "they've nawthin' to do but be
oot or in--A've no patience wi' the stars--puir silly bodies winkin' an'
blinkin' an' doin' nae guid to mon or beastie--chuck me ma breeches an'
let the warm watter rin in the bath."

In the gray light of dawn the reliefs stood on the ground, waiting for
the word "go."

"A' wonder what ma frien' MacMuller is thinkin' the morn?" asked Tam;
"wi' a wan face an' a haggaird een, he'll be takin' a moornfu' farewell
o' the Croon Prince Ruppect.

"'Ye're a brave lad,' says the Croon Prince, 'but maybe Tam's awa'.'

"'Naw,' says MacMuller, shakin' his heid, 'A've a presentiment that
Tam's no' awa'. He'll be oop-stairs waitin' to deal his feelon's-blow.
Ech!' says Mister MacMuller, 'for why did I leave ma fine job at the
gas-wairks to encoonter the perils an' advairsities of aerial
reconnaissance?' he says. 'Well, I'll be gettin' alang, yeer Majesty or
High