"No, no, he just taught them for kindness, and he was much pleased, because one day he asked his class whether they would rather kill a man or be killed themselves, and all of them, with one accord, every single boy, said he’d rather be killed himself than take the life of a fellow-creature." Miss Maggie paused and looked at Montagu for admiration of these noble sentiments. He shook his head vigorously. "I’m not like that," he said decidedly. "Why, I’d rather kill ten men than be killed myself—and I’d try to do it too, first." *CHAPTER XVI* *THE COMING OF THE COLONEL* Soldier, soldier, home from the wars. At Remote a box hedge separated the path leading to the back door from the trim front garden sacred to visitors. Edmund often played behind that hedge. It made good cover for tiger shooting and suchlike thrilling sport; and on this particular day he was in pursuit of a bear, a brown bear of terrific size and grizzliness. It was a very still morning: Elsa and Robina were busy at the back hanging out clothes to dry. Mr. Wycherly and Montagu were, as usual, engaged in the study of Greek or Latin in the room upstairs. Miss Esperance had gone to see a sick woman in the village, and Mr. Gloag was away on a holiday. Therefore was Edmund free to amuse himself as best he could, provided he did not stir beyond the garden. He was getting a little tired of his solitary pursuit of big game when he heard a horse’s hoofs ringing sharply on the road, accompanied by a quite unfamiliar jingling. Both hoofs and jingling stopped at the green gate, and Edmund, peering through a hole in the hedge, saw a soldier, a most resplendent soldier, in dark blue uniform and a brass helmet with a white plume, dismount from a big black horse and push open the green gate, where he paused and whistled. He was a tall man, with a brown, good-humoured face, and he waited evidently in the hope that some one would hear his whistle and come. But no one came. Mr. Wycherly generally shut the window that looked out to the front as a preventive of interruptions. The soldier whistled again loud and clear, then he began to sing a little song. He was evidently a patient man and didn’t mind waiting. Edmund, his round face glued to the hole in the hedge, watched him with absorbed interest; noting carefully both words and tune of the song. The soldier sang, not at all loudly, but quite distinctly and with a certain rollicking joviality that the child found most fascinating. Finally he opened the green gate and led his horse up the garden path to the front door, where he rang the bell. Still no one came, and Edmund, greatly excited, darted out into the road and in at the gate till he, too, stood beside the waiting soldier. "Good morning, sir," said the soldier. "I’ve got a note here for Miss Bethune from the Colonel. This ’ere ’ouse is Remote, ain’t it?"