ily "no
peace" till they let him "go for a soldier" with Master Tony and
Master Jackanapes. They consented at last, with more tears than they
shed when an elder son was sent to jail for poaching, and the boy was
perfectly happy in his life, and full of _esprit de corps_. It was
this which had been wounded by having to sound retreat for "the young
gentlemen's regiment," the first time he served with it before the
enemy, and he was also harassed by having completely lost sight of
Master Tony. There had been some hard fighting before the backward
movement began, and he had caught sight of him once, but not since. On
the other hand, all the pulses of his village pride had been stirred
by one or two visions of Master Jackanapes whirling about on his
wonderful horse. He had been easy to distinguish, since an eccentric
blow had bared his head without hurting it, for his close golden mop
of hair gleamed in the hot sunshine as brightly as the steel of the
sword flashing round it.

Of the missiles that fell pretty thickly, the Boy Trumpeter did not
take much notice. First, one can't attend to everything, and his hands
were full. Secondly, one gets used to anything. Thirdly, experience
soon teaches one, in spite of proverbs, how very few bullets find
their billet. Far more unnerving is the mere suspicion of fear or even
of anxiety in the human mass around you. The Boy was beginning to
wonder if there were any dark reason for the increasing pressure, and
whether they would be allowed to move back more quickly, when the
smoke in front lifted for a moment, and he could see the plain, and
the enemy's line some two hundred yards away.

[Illustration]

And across the plain between them, he saw Master Jackanapes galloping
alone at the top of Lollo's speed, their faces to the enemy, his
golden head at Lollo's ear.

But at this moment noise and smoke seemed to burst out on every side,
the officer shouted to him to sound retire, and between trumpeting and
bumping about on his horse, he saw and heard no more of the incidents
of his first battle.

Tony Johnson was always unlucky with horses, from the days of the
giddy-go-round onwards. On this day--of all days in the year--his own
horse was on the sick list, and he had to ride an inferior,
ill-conditioned beast, and fell off that, at the very moment when it
was a matter of life or death to be able to ride away. The horse fell
on him, but struggled up again, and Tony managed to keep hol