terary style,' and she hits the bull's-eye every
time. Gosh, what a fool I've been! Fancy giving up Alice Lister for a
lass like that. I wonder if it's true that Alice has took up wi' that
parson chap. I'd like to wring his neck, I would for sure."

At the end of nearly three months Tom was moved to another camp still
nearer the south coast. He had a presentiment that the time was not
far distant when he would have to cross the sea, and know in real
earnest what soldiering was like. In a way he was glad of this; like
all youths he longed for excitement, and wanted to come to close grips
with the thing he had set out to do. On the other hand however, he
could not help looking forward with dread. When on reading the
newspapers he saw long lists of casualties, and heard stories of the
men he had known, who went out healthy and strong and never came back
again, and others who were brought home maimed for life, he had a
strange feeling at his heart, and a sinking at the pit of his stomach.
It was not that he felt afraid, but there was a kind of dread of the
unknown. What would it be like to die?

"I hear we're off soon," said Alec McPhail to him one day.

"There's no telling," said Tom laconically.

"Ay, but we shall," replied Alec, "and I shall be glad, I'm getting
sick of this life in the camps."

"I doan't wonder at it," said Tom.

"What micht ye mean by that?" asked the Scotchman.

"I am fair stalled wi' thee," said Tom. "I thought that you, being a
thinking sort o' chap, would know better. You saw what a fool I was
making of myself, and yet you kept on drinking and carousing, and
making a ninny of yourself, as though you had no more brains nor a
waterhen. Why, lad, with your education and cleverness, you might have
been sergeant-major by now. Nay, nay, keep thee temper; I mean nowt
wrong."

The Scotchman looked at Tom angrily for some seconds. He seemed on the
point of striking him, then mastering himself he said, "Ay, Tom, you're
richt, and yet I'm no' sure."

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"Tom, man," said the Scotchman, "ye canna think worse of me than I
think of mysel'. I had a good home too, and a godly mither; as for my
father he was a hard man, but just, very just. Ay, I know I ought to
have known better, but the whisky got hold of me. Besides----"

"Besides what?" asked Tom.

"Ay, man, I'm not a hero when it comes to facing death. I fancy I'm as
brave as most men about lots of t