"I don’t see nothing to laugh at," growled Wilkes, resenting the interruption. The others looked reproachfully at Bates, who relapsed into abashed silence. It was not until the morning of the 23rd that the general of the Reserve, Sir Edward Paget, a younger brother of Lord Paget, received marching orders. On the evening of that day he was to move his division forward from Grajal del Campo along the road to Carrion, join the main body, and halt until head-quarters should arrive from Sahagun. At this news the younger and less experienced men found it almost impossible to keep still. "Lie down and rest, you silly fellows," said Jack to a group of men whom he saw fidgeting about in sheer nervousness and anxiety. "Look at Wilkes yonder; he knows what war is, and he’s snoring away, getting a good sleep before the march to-night. Here, Pepito, just come and show these fellows some of your tricks, and keep them amused, or they’ll be dead-beat before they start." Pepito, who had followed Jack like a shadow ever since he had left Alaejos, obediently went among the men, and soon had them laughing merrily at his absurd antics and extraordinary gibberish. The bleak winter day passed, and at four o’clock, under a gray and leaden sky, the Reserve at last set out towards what they hoped was to be a brilliant victory. The whole country was covered deep with snow. The men had been ordered to refrain from talking or singing while on the march; and thus, in cold and silence, the column trudged along in the gathering night. After some hours’ tramping a halt was called, and the men stood and shivered and wondered. "What are we waiting for now?" growled Corporal Wilkes, shaking the snow from his shako. "To let the guns come up, shouldn’t wonder," returned his friend Bates. "This blessed snow makes it slow work to bring ’em along." "I expect it’s old Romana not up to the scratch," suggested Tom Plunket, the best shot in the regiment. "Very likely he’s lost his way, or forgotten the date, or frizzing his moustache, or something, and that’s keeping our general waiting." "Humph!" growled Wilkes, "another case of to-morrer, to-morrer. Tell you what, boys, these Dons will say ’manaña’ once too often. When the last roll-call comes they’ll say ’manaña’ as sure as fate, and then where’ll they be?—that’s what I want to know." "Hush! what’s that?" said Sergeant Jones, a little man known familiarly as "The Weasel". A bugle-call was sounding. Every man started to his feet. Surely the two hours’ halt was over and the battle was at hand. But no; there was no sound of movement among the troops, no cheer from the men near the general’s quarters. While the men stood in a tense attitude of expectancy, Jack came up out of the darkness. "Men," he said quietly, "we are ordered back to Grajal. Fall in!"