lf some time."

The soldier obeyed readily enough. Jack had already caught his eye
several times during dinner, and now followed him into a corner of the
room, resolved if possible to patch up a friendship. In the carrying
out of this intention he was destined to experience a startling
surprise.

The man paused before one of the end beds, and began to unfasten the
strap of the mattress.

"I didn't think of meeting you here, Mr. Fenleigh."

Jack started and stared at the speaker in silent astonishment.

"You remember me, sir?--Joe Crouch."

"What! Joe Crouch, who used to work at Brenlands?"

"Yes, sir; Joe Crouch as stole the pears," answered the soldier,
smiling. "I never expected to find you 'listin' in the army, sir. I
suppose Miss Fenleigh ain't aware of what you're doin'?"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed the other eagerly. "Promise me you'll never tell
any one at Brenlands where I am--swear you won't."

"Very well, sir," replied Joe Crouch, calmly proceeding to unroll the
mattress and make down the bed.

"For goodness' sake, drop that _sir_. Look here, Joe: I'm a lame dog,
down on my luck, and no good to anybody; but we were friendly years
ago, and if you'll have me for a comrade now, I'll do my best to be a
good one."

Joe flung down the bedding, and held out his big, brown hand.

"That I will!" he answered. "You did the square thing by me once, and
now I'll see you through; don't you fret."

Tea in barracks was evidently a very informal meal, of which no great
account was taken. As Jack sat down to his bowl and chunk of bread,
Joe Crouch pushed a screw of paper in front of him, which on
examination proved to contain a small pat of butter.

"What's this?" asked Jack.

"Fat," answered Joe, shortly. "From the canteen," he added.

"Then you've paid for it, and--look here--you've got none yourself."

"Don't want any," answered Joe, breaking up a crust and dropping it
into his tea. "There you are. That's what's called a 'floatin'
battery.'"

In the evening most of the men went out. Jack, however, preferred to
remain where he was, and passed the time reading a paper he had brought
with him, at one of the tables. Sergeant Sparks came up to him and
chatted pleasantly for half an hour. He wore a ribbon at his breast,
and had stirring stories to tell of the Afghan war, and Roberts' march
to Candahar. About half-past eight the men began to return from their
walks and various amusements, and the bar