wly
housewards lost in happy dreams. As he went he remembered with an odd
relief that the Viscount was in London and would remain there several
days. Presently he came upon the Sergeant who bore a rake "at the
trail" much as if it had been a pike: and the Sergeant's face was
beaming and his bright eye almost roguish:

"Ha, Zeb," said the Major, halting to view him over, and his own eyes
were shining also, "why Zeb, how deuced smart you look!"

"My best clothes, sir, new ones being on order as commanded, sir."

"Aye, but 'tis not your clothes exactly, you seem--younger, somehow."

"Why, sir," said the Sergeant, a little diffidently, "I took the
liberty o' powdering my wig,--no objections I hope, your honour?"

"None at all Zeb, no, no! Egad, 'tis like old times!" So saying, the
Major smiled and passed on to the house, whistling softly as he went.

CHAPTER XIX

HOW THE MAJOR LOST HIS YOUTH AGAIN

It was a night of midsummer glory; an orbed moon rode high in queenly
splendour filling the world with a radiance that lent to all things a
beauty new and strange. Not a breath stirred, trees, tall and
motionless, seemed asleep, so still were they.

Thus the Major, on his way to bed, paused to lean from the open
casement of his study and to gaze, happy-eyed, upon the radiant heaven
and to dream of the future as many a man has done before and since.
All at once he started and stared to behold Sergeant Zebedee abroad at
this witching hour. But the Sergeant was there for other things than
dreaming, it seemed, for upon his shoulder he bore a blunderbuss, a
broadsword swung at his thigh, and from one of his big side-pockets
appeared the heavy, brass-mounted butt of a long-barrelled pistol.
Wondering, the Major stepped out through the casement and followed.
Sergeant Zebedee marched with elaborate caution and was keeping so
sharp a lookout before that he quite overlooked the Major behind him;
but all at once a stick snapped, round wheeled the Sergeant,
blunderbuss at "the ready" but, seeing the Major, he immediately
lowered his weapon and stood easy.

"'S'noggers, sir," said he, "I thought you was it!"

"It, Zebedee?"

"Aye, your honour, it, him, or her. If it ain't a him 'tis a her and
if it ain't a her it's an it--or shall us say a apparation, sir. Same
being said to walk i' the orchard o' nights lately----"

"An apparition--in the orchard, Zeb? Have you seen it?"

"Why no, sir, not exactly, but what I