For a while, their mouths full of pie, the soldiers, with the exception of Berkley, criticised their commander-in-chief, freely--their corps commanders, and every officer down to their particular corporals. That lasted for ten minutes. Then one and all began comparing these same maligned officers most favourably with other officers of other corps; and they ended, as usual, by endorsing their commander-in-chief with enthusiasm, and by praising every officer under whom they served. Then they boasted of their individual regiments--all except Berkley--extolling their discipline, their marching, their foraging efficiency, their martyr-like endurance. "What's your Colonel like, anyway?" inquired Casson, turning to Berkley. "He's a good officer," said the latter indifferently. "Do you like him?" "He has--merit." "Jerusalem!" laughed Wye, "if that isn't a kick in the seat of his pants!" Berkley reddened. "You're mistaken, Arthur." "Didn't you tell me at Alexandria that you hated him?" "I said that--yes. I was disappointed because the Westchester Horse was not attached to John Casson's regiment. . . . I don't--dislike Colonel Arran." Berkley was still red; he lay in the grass on his stomach, watching the big cloud pile on the horizon. "You know," said Casson, "that part of our army stretches as far as that smoke. We're the rear-guard." "Listen to the guns," said Wye, pretending technical familiarity even at that distance. "They're big fellows--those Dahlgrens and Columbiads----" "Oh, bosh!" snapped Casson, "you can't tell a howitzer from a rocket!" Wye sat up, thoroughly offended. "To prove _your_ dense ignorance, you yellow-bellied dragoon, let me ask you a simple question: When a shell is fired toward you _can_ you see it coming?" "Certainly. Didn't we see the big shells at Yorktown----" "Wait! When a solid shot is fired, can you see it when it is coming toward you?" "Certainly----" "No you can't, you ignoramus! You can see a shell coming or going; you can see a solid shot going--never coming from the enemy's guns. Aw! go soak that bull head of yours and wear a lady-like havelock!" The bickering discussion became general for a moment, then, still disputing, Casson and Wye walked off toward camp, and Stephen and Berkley followed. "Have you heard from your mother?" asked the latter, as they sauntered along over the grass. "Yes, twice. Father was worried half to death because she hadn't yet left Paigecourt. Isn't it strange, Phil, that after all we're so near mother's old home? And father was all against her going, I tell you, I'm worried." "She has probably gone by this time," observed Berkley. The boy nodded doubtfully; then: "I had a fine letter from Ailsa. She sent me twenty dollars," he added naively, "but our sutler has got it all." "What did Ailsa say?" asked Berkley casually.