The discussion was here interrupted by the entrance of Tom, Polly’s husband; but was resumed with even greater energy after the state of affairs had been explained to him. As he was short-sighted enough to express doubt and disapproval, the entire family fell upon him with one accord, and reduced him to a state of sulky submission, his mother-in-law ending the controversy by announcing that if he had a bit of proper feelin’ he’d offer to go in Granfer’s place. Long before dawn on the morrow the household was astir: Tom plodding over the rimy fields in the wake of Chrissy; Grandma hunting up the uniform; Polly turning over her belongings in search of a red felt petticoat which, she declared, matched it so well in colour and texture that portions of it might be used to widen the tunic; and Annie arming herself with scissors, needles, and thread in order to carry out the necessary alterations. Round the kitchen fire they all presently gathered, eagerly assisting Granfer to “try on,” every one talking at once, and everyone sneezing, for Grandma was too good a manager not to have provided against the destructive moth by embalming the uniform in quantities of camphor and pepper. After almost superhuman efforts Granfer was inducted into the tunic, his back having somewhat the appearance of a large red pincushion, while between the lower end of the tunic and the top of the Sunday trousers a good deal of grey flannel shirt was plainly visible. As for meeting in front, that as Mrs. Sampson had foretold, the garment could by no means be induced to do, until Annie had deftly contrived to insert large strips of Polly’s red petticoat at the sides and in the sleeves. “I expect I shall have to get a new ’un,’ remarked Granfer,” endeavouring to obtain a back view of himself, and squinting violently in the attempt. “This here coat do seem too shart behind. I reckon I’d best take off thiccy shirt. It didn’t ought to stick out like that.” “Take off your shirt!” screamed his wife. “That ’ud be a pretty thing to do. Ye’d be gettin’ laid up wi’ lumbaguey first thing, an’ much good ye’d be at your soldiering then. Here, I’ll pull it down a bit, and when your sword do go on it won’t show much.” “Keep your arms by your side, Granfer, so much as you can,” advised Annie, “an’ then the patches won’t be seen.” “Lard, the red do suit ’ee wonderful I’m sure,” groaned Polly admiringly. “I think the Queen herself ’ud be pleased if she could see ye.” Granfer smiled, and then sat down to breakfast.