Jack jumped up, hurried on his clothes, and went to the window. The sight that met his gaze drew an involuntary exclamation of delight from him. There, on the parade-ground just below him, he saw, drawn up in column of troops, the gallant ‘Death or Glory Boys.’ It was a magnificent morning, the bright sun shining on the burnished sword-scabbards and lance-points, making them flash and glisten like myriads of diamonds, while the light breeze was just enough to flutter the drooping black plumes and the gay red and white lance-pennons. The facings of the dark-blue uniforms looked snowy white, the shape of the men’s legs being shown to perfection by the white-striped overalls. The horses tossed their heads proudly and pawed the ground restively as though impatient to be off outside the gates, where they seemed to know a crowd had gathered to see the gallant regiment march off. As Jack looked, the trumpeters sounded the ‘General Parade,’ and the officers took up their position with the regiment, the gold lace glittering on their uniforms and horse-furniture, conspicuous on which was the grinning skull and cross-bones, their great plumes of black swans’ feathers rustling in the breeze. Then a handsome, distinguished-looking man, on whose breast glittered several medals and orders, rode up. A few curt commands followed, the lances came up to the ‘carry,’ and the officers drew their swords. The band, which had been sitting mounted just on the right of the regiment, struck up a lively march and moved off; the regiment, in sections, followed, and the ‘Death or Glory Boys’ passed in review before Jack. ‘What a glorious sight! how noble they look!’ cried Jack aloud. ‘How I should love to ride in their ranks!’ ‘Would you, indeed, sonny?’ said a voice behind him, and, turning, Jack beheld Sergeant Barrymore, a kindly smile on his sunburnt features, regarding him with a quizzical smile. CHAPTER IV. JACK BECOMES A LANCER. ‘And so you’d like to be a soldier, would you?’ said the sergeant jokingly. ‘I think I should,’ replied Jack with a blush; ‘the men did look so grand. I’ve never seen a Lancer regiment before.’ ‘It’s not all beer and skittles in the army,’ said the sergeant; ‘but a lad of mettle might do worse. You know what the song says,’ and the sergeant sang in a bass voice: ‘A soldier’s life’s a life of glory, Told in song and gallant story, and so on; but you need not believe all that. However, now let us get some breakfast;’ and after a wash, feeling quite himself again save for his sore feet and stiff knee, Jack was soon seated at table with the sergeant and his wife. The regiment, Jack heard, was going to London to form a guard of honour and escort to the Queen on some state function. ‘And tired enough the chaps’ll be when they get in to-night,’ said the sergeant.