made us
tell him all about it, and so did the Colonel. The wicked Colonel
listened too, which was only another proof of his cheek.

And Oswald told the tale in the modest yet manly way that some people
think he has, and gave the others all the credit they deserved. His
narration was interrupted no less than four times by shouts of "Bravo!"
in which the enemy's Colonel once more showed his cheek by joining. By
the time the story was told we were in sight of another camp. It was the
British one this time. The Colonel asked us to have tea in his tent, and
it only shows the magnanimosity of English chivalry in the field of
battle that he asked the enemy's Colonel too. With his usual cheek he
accepted. We were jolly hungry.

When every one had had as much tea as they possibly could, the Colonel
shook hands with us all, and to Oswald he said:

"Well, good-bye, my brave scout. I must mention your name in my
despatches to the War Office."

H. O. interrupted him to say, "His name's Oswald Cecil Bastable, and
mine is Horace Octavius." I wish H. O. would learn to hold his tongue.
No one ever knows Oswald was christened Cecil as well, if he can
possibly help it. _You_ didn't know it till now.

"Mr. Oswald Bastable," the Colonel went on--he had the decency not to
take any notice of the "Cecil"--"you would be a credit to any regiment.
No doubt the War Office will reward you properly for what you have done
for your country. But meantime, perhaps, you'll accept five shillings
from a grateful comrade-in-arms."

Oswald felt heart-feltly sorry to wound the good Colonel's feelings, but
he had to remark that he had only done his duty, and he was sure no
British scout would take five bob for doing that. "And besides," he
said, with that feeling of justice which is part of his young character,
"it was the others just as much as me."

"Your sentiments, sir," said the Colonel, who was one of the politest
and most discerning colonels I ever saw, "your sentiments do you honor.
But, Bastables all, and--and non-Bastables" (he couldn't remember
Foulkes; it's not such an interesting name as Bastable, of course), "at
least you'll accept a soldier's pay?"

"Lucky to touch it, a shilling a day!" Alice and Denny said together.
And the Cocked-Hatted Man said something about knowing your own mind and
knowing your own Kipling.

"A soldier," said the Colonel, "would certainly be lucky to touch it.
You see there are deductions for rations. Five sh