"This regiment isn't all Papists, sir," put in Vere. "A little soldier spoke to me, saying he was a Methodist, and asking if there were any 'serious people' near. I told him that Liddon was the prize serious town in England, and that it had a Methodist chapel called Noah's Ark, because only those who go to it can be saved. I made him think I was 'serious', and he told me--Cousin Betty, you'll die of laughing when you hear--he, a private in the ranks, and Irish at that, preaches, yes preaches, in the streets, and in Methodist chapels when the regiment halts over Sunday near one. He'll be trying to speak in Noah's Ark to-morrow." "Impossible," said Sir John angrily. "Percy, do you know what Vere means?" "Very much what he says, sir. The man is George Ferguson, north Irish, born in Derry. He worked there in a muslin factory till a year ago, when the hard times caused by the war threw him out of work. There was nothing to do anywhere, he had a young wife, and finding she would be taken on the strength of the regiment if he enlisted, he did so, to save them both from starving. He is a strong Methodist, with a taste for preaching, and the regiment, who are nearly all Catholics, nick-named him the Swaddler Priest." "The what?" exclaimed Betty. "Swaddler, my dear. The first Methodist preacher who went to Ireland in the days of Mr. Wesley, preached his first sermon on the text, 'She brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes', and Irish Methodists are always called Swaddlers." "And whenever did you become an authority on Methodism?" exclaimed Sir John. "Ferguson has been my servant, sir, and while I am an infidel myself, I find him interesting. He can read and write, but he must have a hard life. He probably thought that entering the ranks would only mean the irksomeness of a discipline he had never been accustomed to, and the possible dangers of war. He didn't realize he would have to live in the closest companionship with men of, unfortunately, our lowest class, and their brutish tastes must hurt his self-respect. Yet I have never known him anything but serenely cheerful. He not only keeps himself above his surroundings, but he does it as if the effort were enjoyable, and tries to preach somewhere each Sunday." "I should have thought it impossible for a north Irish Protestant to live in a south Irish regiment," commented Betty.