Ten paces one way, ten paces the other; turn, and back again, and begin your ten paces over again. Yes, it is monotonous, there is no doubt of that; but it is the bounden duty of a sentry, unless he happens to prefer standing still in his box, getting stiff and chill, and perhaps running the risk of being caught asleep at his post--no light offence in a barrack, I can tell you. Ten paces one way, ten paces the other--a rustling, a mere movement, such as would scarcely have attracted the attention of most people, but which caught Private Flinders’ sharp ears, and brought him up to a standstill again in an attitude of strict watchfulness. "Halt! Who goes there?" he cried again, and listened once more. Again silence met him, and again he stood, alert and suspicious, waiting for the reply, "Friend." "By Gum, this is queer," he thought, as he stood listening. "I’ll search to the bottom of it though. I daresay it’s only some of the chaps getting at me; but I’ll be even with ’em, if it is." He groped about in rather an aimless sort of way, for the night was black as pitch; and his eyes, though they had grown used to the inky want of light, could distinguish nothing of his surroundings. "Now, where are you, you beggar?" he remarked, beginning to lose his habitual serenity, and laying about him with his carbine. After a stroke or two the weapon touched something, though not heavily, and a howl followed--a howl which was unmistakably that of a small child. It conveyed both fear and bodily pain. Private Flinders followed up the howl by feeling cautiously in the part whence the sounds had come. His hand closed upon something soft and shrinking, and the howls were redoubled. "Hollo! what the deuce are you?" he exclaimed, drawing the shrieking captive nearer to him. "Why, I’m blessed if it ain’t a kid--and a girl, too. Well, I’m blowed! And where did you happen to come from?" The howl by this time had developed into a faint sniffing, for Private Flinders’ voice was neither harsh nor forbidding. But the creature did not venture on speech. "Where did you come from, and what are you doing here?" he asked. "Do you belong to the barricks, and has your mammy been wollopping of you? Or did you stray in from outside?" "Lost my mammy," the small creature burst out, finding that she was expected to say something. "What’s your mammy’s name?" Flinders asked. "Mammy, of course," was the reply. "And what’s your name?" "Susy." "Susy. Aye, but Susy what?" "Susy," repeated the little person, beginning to whimper again. "Where do you live?" "At home," said Susy, in an insulted tone, as if all these questions were quite superfluous.