r as it goes," he admitted. "Obedience be hard to the
young; to the auld it comes natural; to me allus was easy as dirt from
my youth up. Obedience to betters in heaven an' airth. But you--you with
your born luck--never heard tell of nothin' like it 't all. What's a fix
to you? You goes in wan end an' walks out t' other, like a rabbit
through a hedge. Theer you was--in such a tight pass as you might say
neither God nor angels could get 'e free wi'out a Bible miracle, when,
burnish it all! if the Jubilee Queen o' England doan't busy herself
'bout 'e!"

"'T is true as I'm walkin' by your side. I'd give a year o' my wages to
knaw how I could shaw what I think about it."

"You might thank her. 'T is all as humble folks can do most times when
Queens or Squires or the A'mighty Hisself spares a thought to better us.
Us can awnly say 'thank you.'"

There was a silence of some duration; then Billy again bid his companion
moderate his pace.

"I'm forgetting all I've got to tell 'e, though I've news enough for a
buke," he said.

"How's Jan Grimbal, fust plaace?"

"On his legs again an' out o' danger if the Lunnon doctor knaws
anything. A hunderd guineas they say that chap have had! Your name was
danced to a mad tune 'pon Grimbal's lips 'fore his senses corned back to
un. Why for I caan't tell 'e. He've shook hands wi' Death for sartain
while you was away."

"An' mother, an' wife, an' Miller?"

"Your mother be well--a steadfast woman her be. Joy doan't lift her up,
an' sorrow doan't crush her. Theer's gert wisdom in her way of life. 'T
is my awn, for that matter. Then Miller--well, he 'm grawin' auld an'
doan't rate me quite so high as formerly--not that I judge anybody but
myself. An' your missis--theer, if I haven't kept it for the last! 'Tis
news four-an-twenty hour old now an' they wrote to 'e essterday, but I
lay you missed the letter awin' to me--"

"Get on!"

"Well, she've brought 'e a bwoy--so now you've got both sorts--bwoy an'
cheel. An' all doin' well as can be, though wisht work for her, thinkin'
'pon you the while."

Will stood still and uttered a triumphant but inarticulate
sound--half-laugh, half-sob, half-thanksgiving. Then the man spoke, slow
and deep,--

"He shall go for a soldier!"

"Theer! Now I knaw 't is Blanchard back an' no other! Hear me, will 'e;
doan't plan no such uneven way of life for un."

"By God, he shall!"

The words came back over Will Blanchard's shoulder, for he was fast
va