ooking bugler, in the uniform of the 200th Fusiliers, with belts,
buttons and facings looking very clean and bright, but the scarlet cloth
ragged and stained from the rain and mud, and sleeping in it anywhere,
often without shelter, who dropped the lid as if it were hot and shut in
the steam once more, as the iron pot bubbled away where it hung from
three sticks, over a wood fire.

It was in a lovely part of Portugal, and the regiment was halting among
the mountains after a long weary tramp; fires had been lit for cooking,
and the men were lying and sitting about, sleeping, cleaning their
firelocks, pipeclaying their belts, and trying to make themselves look
as smart as they could considering that they were all more or less
ragged and torn after a fortnight's tramp in all weathers in pursuit of
a portion of the French army which had been always a few hours ahead.

But it was easy enough to follow their steps, for everywhere they had
plundered, and destroyed; villages and pleasant homes were burned; and
blackened ruins, cut-up gardens and vineyards met the soldiers' eyes
wherever the enemy had been.

There had been a straggling little village by the side of the mountain
stream, where the 200th had halted at midday after their long march
under a burning sun, at a spot where there was plenty of fresh water,
and it was the pot over one of these cooking fires whose lid Tom Jones
had lifted off.

"On'y wanted to smell what was for dinner," he said. "What have you
got, Mother Beane?"

"Never you mind. Rare ohs for meddlers, and pump-handle sauce, perhaps;
and look here, you sir, you come when we halt to-night and I'll mend
some of them rags. You're a disgrace."

"Ain't worse than the rest of the fellows," said Tom, grinning. "The
Colonel's horse went down 's morn'."

"Oh, dear, dear!" cried the woman excitedly; "is he hurt?"

"Broke both his knees, and bled ever so."

"The Colonel?"

"Now-w-w! His horse. Colonel only went sliding down 'mong the stones,
and ripped his jacket sleeve right up."

"Oh, that's a blessing," said the woman. "You go to him when we camp,
and say Mrs Corp'ral Beane's dooty and she's got a needle and silk
ready, and may she mend his jacket."

"All right, but you might tell us what's for dinner."

"Wait and see. And why don't you go and forage about and see if you
can't find a bit o' fruit or some vegetables?"

"'Tarn't no good. Old Frog-soups clears everything."

"Yes," said th