ate, and the young
officers caught sight of the ladies standing in a group ready to greet
them with outstretched hands, one of them--never mind which--perhaps it
was Bracy--felt half-suffocated, while the thin, careworn faces, many of
them wet with the coursing tears, looked dim and distorted as if seen
through bad spectacles on a wet day; and when, after having his hand
shaken a score of times and listening to fervent greetings and
blessings, he got through the gateway to the great inner court, where
the baggage and pack-mules, camels, and the rest were packed together in
company with the native servants, the said one--as aforesaid, never mind
which--said to himself:

"Thank goodness that's over! If it had lasted much longer I should have
made a fool of myself. I never felt anything like it in my life."

"Bracy, old chap," said Roberts just then, "we mustn't forget about that
fellow's boots. I've a pair, too, as soon as I can get at my traps. I
say, I know you've got a mother, but have you any sisters?"

"Yes; two."

"I've three. Now, can you explain to me why it was that as soon as I
was marching by those poor women yonder I could think of nothing but my
people at home?"

"For the same reason that I did," replied Bracy rather huskily. "Human
nature; but thank Heaven, old man, that they're not here."

"Oh, I don't know," said Roberts thoughtfully. "It would be very nice
to see them, and I know my dear old mother would have been very proud to
see us march in. My word, this has been a day!"

"Yes, and here we are. Shall we ever get away?"

"Of course we shall. But, hullo! what does that mean?"

Bracy turned at the same moment, for rather faintly, but in a pleasant
tenor voice, there came out of a long box-like ambulance gharry, borne
on two mules in long shafts at either end:

"When Johnny comes marching home again--Hurrah!"

And from another voice a repetition of the cheer:

"Hurrah! Hurrah! When Johnny comes marching home again, Hurrah!
Hurrah!"

"Ah, Mr Bracy, sir, just having a bit of a sing-song together."

"Why, Gedge, my lad, how are you--how are you getting on?"

"I don't look in, sir, and I'll tell yer. Doctor says it's all right,
but my blessed head keeps on swelling still. I don't believe I shall
ever get my 'elmet on agen. My mate here, though, is getting on
swimming."

"That's right. You'll lie up in hospital for a hit and soon be well."

"Orspital, sir? Yes; but it's lo