The next day part of Jack’s uniform was finished, and for afternoon drill, for the first time, with Will Hodson’s help, he donned the white striped overalls, neat blue undress jacket, and the jaunty forage-cap. Wellington boots and spurs, which to Jack’s ears jingled most martially, completed his attire; and as he took up his trumpet and bugle to fall in for parade, Will Hodson declared that Jack looked a fair treat, and that there wasn’t a smarter-looking trumpeter in the 17th. Bandsman Napper during this time let no opportunity slip of perpetrating little tyrannies on Jack, and showing him that he had not forgotten the episode of the letter. Exactly a week had passed since Jack had entered Hounslow Barracks with Sergeant Barrymore, and on the Saturday afternoon he was crossing the square on his way from trumpet-practice when a trooper who had just come in cried out to him, ‘Isn’t your name Blair, sonny?’ ‘It is,’ replied Jack. ‘There’s a lady at the gate asking for you, then.’ Jack’s heart gave a great thump. A lady to see him! Who could it be? Was it---- He hastened to the gate, and there, talking to the stalwart sentry, a handkerchief and purse in one hand, a parasol in the other, stood his mother. Jack went up to her and held out his hand. ‘Mother!’ he cried. The old lady, in her black silk gown and widow’s neat bonnet, which did not conceal her silvery hair parted in the centre and smoothed down on each side of her head, gave one look at the young soldier, on whose well-knit, upright figure drill had already set its mark; then, recognising Jack, she opened her arms, gave a sort of gasping cry, and folded her son to her breast, saying, ‘John, John, my dearest son, to think that I should ever see you thus in the garb of a common soldier!’ Just at this moment Napper, on his way out to spend the evening, passed Jack and his mother, and overhearing Mrs Blair’s remark, he made a grimace at the sentry, saying in audible tones, ‘Poor mammy’s darling, I wonder whether she’s brought him a bit of sugar?’ Jack flushed as he heard the remark, and drew his mother away from the gate. Where to take her he knew not, for, alas! there is no privacy in the barrack-room. Across the square they went, many an eye being turned on the lady, who was pouring forth lamentations the while she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. At that moment Sergeant Barrymore espied the pair, and, understanding what had happened, crossed over to them. ‘Madam,’ he said politely, ‘I can see from the likeness between you and Jack that you are his mother. If you will step across to my quarters my wife will be happy to offer you a cup of tea.’ Jack looked the thanks he could not express, and Mrs Blair said, ‘Thank you, I will go to my son’s room.’ Jack had to explain that he shared his room in common with many others, and begged that she would accompany him to the sergeant’s quarters.