He walked for two miles deep in thought, and then coming to a shady bank took a seat upon an inviting piece of turf and lit his pipe. The heat and the drowsy hum of bees made him nod; his pipe hung from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes closed. He opened them at the sound of approaching footsteps, and, feeling in his pocket for matches, gazed lazily at the intruder. He saw a tall man carrying a small bundle over his shoulder, and in the erect carriage, the keen eyes, and bronzed face had little difficulty in detecting the old soldier. The stranger stopped as he reached the seated boatswain and eyed him pleasantly. “Got a pipe o' baccy, mate?” he inquired. The boatswain handed him the small metal box in which he kept that luxury. “Lobster, ain't you?” he said, affably. The tall man nodded. “Was,” he replied. “Now I'm my own commander-in-chief.” “Padding it?” suggested the boatswain, taking the box from him and refilling his pipe. The other nodded, and with the air of one disposed to conversation dropped his bundle in the ditch and took a seat beside him. “I've got plenty of time,” he remarked. Mr. Benn nodded, and for a while smoked on in silence. A dim idea which had been in his mind for some time began to clarify. He stole a glance at his companion—a man of about thirty-eight, clear eyes, with humorous wrinkles at the corners, a heavy moustache, and a cheerful expression more than tinged with recklessness. “Ain't over and above fond o' work?” suggested the boatswain, when he had finished his inspection. “I love it,” said the other, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air, “but we can't have all we want in this world; it wouldn't be good for us.” The boatswain thought of Mrs. Waters, and sighed. Then he rattled his pocket. “Would arf a quid be any good to you?” he inquired. “Look here,” began the soldier; “just because I asked you for a pipe o' baccy—” “No offence,” said the other, quickly. “I mean if you earned it?” The soldier nodded and took his pipe from his mouth. “Gardening and windows?” he hazarded, with a shrug of his shoulders. The boatswain shook his head. “Scrubbing, p'r'aps?” said the soldier, with a sigh of resignation. “Last house I scrubbed out I did it so thoroughly they accused me of pouching the soap. Hang 'em!” “And you didn't?” queried the boatswain, eyeing him keenly. The soldier rose and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, gazed at him darkly. “I can't give it back to you,” he said, slowly, “because I've smoked some of it, and I can't pay you for it because I've only got twopence, and that I want for myself. So long, matey, and next time a poor wretch asks you for a pipe, be civil.” “I never see such a man for taking offence in all my born days,” expostulated the boatswain. “I 'ad my reasons for that remark, mate. Good reasons they was.” The soldier grunted and, stooping, picked up his bundle.