trifle stiffer as he saluted.

"Your honour," said he, "the horses are saddled and ready."

"Zeb--Zebedee!" exclaimed the Major, falling back another step. "A
Gad's name what does this mean?"

"Sir," answered the Sergeant, staring stonily before him, "same do mean
as I, like the horses, am ready and waiting to march so soon as you do
give the word."

"Then, damme Zeb, I'll not permit it! I ride--alone. D'ye hear?"

"I hear, sir."

"You understand, Zebedee, alone!"

"Aye, sir."

"Consequently you will go back--back to bed, at once, d'ye hear?"

"Aye sir, I hear."

"Then begone."

"Axing your grace, your honour, but same can't nowise be, orders
notwithstanding nevertheless--no!"

"Ha! D'ye mean you actually--refuse to obey?"

The Sergeant blinked, swallowed hard and saluted:

"Your honour--sir--I do!"

"God--bless--my--soul!" ejaculated the Major and stared wide-eyed at
cross-belts, buckles and spatterdashes as if he had never seen such
things in all his forty-one years. "Is it--insubordination, Sergeant
Zebedee?" he demanded, his cheeks flushing.

"Your honour--it be. Same I do admit though same regretting. But sir,
if you are for the wars it na't'rally do follow as I must be.
Wheresoever you go--speaking as soldiers sir, I must go as by natur' so
determined now and for ever, amen."

"And what o' the estate, ass? I ha' left you agent here in Mr.
Jennings' room."

"Same is an honour, sir, but dooty demands----"

"And what of Mrs. Agatha, dolt?"

The Sergeant's broad shoulders drooped quite perceptibly for a moment,
then grew rigid again:

"Dooty is--dooty, your honour!"

"And you are a damned obstinate fellow, Zebedee, d'ye hear?"

The Sergeant saluted.

"I say a dolt and a preposterous fool to boot--d'ye take me, Zeb?"

The Sergeant saluted.

"And you talk pure folly--curst folly, d'ye understand, Zebedee?"

"Folly as ever was sir, but--folly for you, folly for me, says I!"

Now at this the Major grew so angry that he dropped a riding-boot and,
stooping for it at the same instant as the Sergeant they knocked their
hats off and were groping for these when there came a soft rapping at
the door and, starting erect, they beheld Mrs. Agatha, smiling and
bright-eyed and across one arm she bore--the Ramillie coat.

"Your honour," said she, curtseying, "'tis very late, I know, but I'm
here to bring your old battle-coat as I found to-day in the garden,
knowing 'tis such a favourite