Spud rushed to the water-stand, fixed up the hose, then running it out he let go. Swish went the cold battering fluid into the angry, struggling mob. Militiamen hate water as much as they do soap. And Spud’s terrible shower-bath was too much. They broke and fled, the water and blood trickling down their faces and clothes and damping the stolen goods in their pockets. Just as they dispersed the "Fall in" sounded. All doubled on parade, where the roll was called, and the seething excited mass reduced to silence and order. "Parade—’Shun," yelled Colonel Corkleg. They sprang up like the Guards’ Brigade. "Every man will empty his pockets of the stolen goods. Then the companies will march in succession off parade." There was a titter and then a chuckle as the sergeants went round and ordered the looters to lay out their wares on the ground in front. Tins of paste, blacking, polish, cheese, cakes, cigars, cigarettes, buttonhooks, lemonade, &c., were quickly disgorged. When finished each company marched off. When the last one had left the ground the old colonel quietly chuckled as he looked along the sixteen lines of stolen goods. "D—— rascals, but d—— good soldiers," he muttered. Then, turning to the sergeant-major, he ordered him to return the wares to the much-battered canteen of the Perth Mileeshy. Next day in the regimental order there appeared: "Promotions—Private Spud Tamson, promoted Lance-Corporal for meritorious conduct." CHAPTER IX. LAUGHTER AND LOVE. "_Paw_!" "Ay, wumin," answered Tamson senior, turning from his task of blowing up his old balloons. "Spud’s comin’ hame on week-end pass, an’, d’ye ken——" "Whut?" "He’s been made an officer." "Ye’re haverin’." "I’m no’! Listen," said she, digging a letter out of her old leather purse and reading aloud— ―――― "_Dear Mither_,—I’m weel. I hop’ you fayther an’ the dug’s weel. I’ve been made a heid yin here. The Kurnel made me a Lance-Korperal for distingwishet kondukt. I expect to get made a genral in aboot a month. I’m kumin’ hame on pass for a week-end. Love tae a’—an’ the dug. "_Spud_. "_P.S._—Hoo’s ma lass. Tell her I’ll staun her a slider an’ fish supper when I kum." ―――― "That bates a’," said Tamson, adjusting his specs. "I kent the sodger bluid o’ the Tamson wid mak’ a man o’ him." "He gets his brains onywey frae the McSkelpie’s," retorted Mrs Tamson, a little offended. "Awa’ wi’ ye, wumin. The McSkelpies are a’ loonies." "Anither word an’ I’ll leave the hoose! Dinnae insult ma family. They’ve ay worn hats on Sunday, an’ that’s mair than the Tamsons could ever dae," concluded Mrs Tamson, as she kicked the cat half into the fire. "Weel, we’ll no’ fecht aboot it. You’re the best o’ the bunch, an’ no’ a bad-lookin’ lass," old Tamson crooned in a softer tone, for he was a born diplomat. "Thenk ye," she replied a little tartly, but inside she was real pleased, for she was only a woman after all.