The sound of that bright shrill voice cheering the men on made them turn
to look whence it came, and at the sight of the waving cap and its
excited owner a laugh ran along the ranks and the men cheered again.

The next minute, as the cheer died out and the regular throbbing beat,
beat of five hundred marching men went on in regular pulsation, Phil
caught sight of an officer riding at the rear of one of the companies,
and his voice rang out shrill and clear:

"Dr Martin, here he is at last! Father! Father! Stop!"

The next minute he had leaped down from the side of the waggon and was
running towards the passing regiment, the men cheering madly with
excitement as they saw their newly-promoted Major draw rein, and the
next moment seize the little hands extended to him to be swung up on to
the saddle and then cling to the excited officer's neck. The cheer
which had rung out before was as nothing to that which rose again and
again as the men saw the little fellow kissing the bearded and convulsed
face of their leader as wildly as if there was not a soul in sight; but
those cheers drowned the Major's hoarsely-uttered words:

"Oh, my boy! My boy! What are you doing here?"

"I'm a prisoner, father. That sergeant wouldn't believe. But it's all
right now. Oh, I am so glad!"

"But Dr Martin?"

"He's in that waggon," cried Phil, giving his head a backward jerk, for
he was too much excited to look back. "He's a prisoner too because he's
French. Oh, I do like this. Let me ride here, father. May I hold the
reins?"

The Major was silent for a few moments, feeling quite taken aback by the
boy's request.

"May I, father--please?"

"Yes, for a little while," came the Major's hoarse words at last; "for a
little while, Phil, till I can pull myself together and think what to
do. Forward, my lads!" he shouted, as he resumed his place, with the
men cheering more wildly than ever as Phil rode with flushed face and
sparkling eyes, in happy ignorance of the fact that he, a child in
years, was in the ranks of the regiment that a few hours later was to
head the advance in the great attack upon Quebec, in which the gallant
British General who won Canada for the British Crown gloriously breathed
his last.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

"I wish all this fighting would finish, Dr Martin," said Phil one day,
with a sigh. "It seems very dreadful, and my father is always away.
But," he added, "it's very nice being near him."

"In th