"Aye, keep to the wars! Give me the Old Testament for choice. There's more taste to it, to my mind. When parson comes he wants to get off to something else; but it's Joshua or nothing with me. Them Israelites was good soldiers--good growed soldiers, all of 'em." "But, uncle," pleaded Norah, "it's all peace in the next world." "No, it ain't, gal." "Oh, yes, uncle, surely!" The old corporal knocked his stick irritably upon the ground. "I tell ye it ain't, gal. I asked parson." "Well, what did he say?" "He said there was to be a last fight. He even gave it a name, he did. The battle of Arm--Arm----" "Armageddon." "Aye, that's the name parson said. I 'specs the Third Guards'll be there. And the Dook--the Dook'll have a word to say." An elderly, grey-whiskered gentleman had been walking down the street, glancing up at the numbers of the houses. Now as his eyes fell upon the old man, he came straight for him. "Hullo!" said he; "perhaps you are Gregory Brewster?" "My name, sir," answered the veteran. "You are the same Brewster, as I understand, who is on the roll of the Scots Guards as having been present at the battle of Waterloo?" "I am that man, sir, though we called it the Third Guards in those days. It was a fine ridgment, and they only need me to make up a full muster." "Tut, tut! they'll have to wait years for that," said the gentleman heartily. "But I am the colonel of the Scots Guards, and I thought I would like to have a word with you." Old Gregory Brewster was up in an instant, with his hand to his rabbit-skin cap. "God bless me!" he cried, "to think of it! to think of it!" "Hadn't the gentleman better come in?" suggested the practical Norah from behind the door. "Surely, sir, surely; walk in, sir, if I may be so bold." In his excitement he had forgotten his stick, and as he led the way into the parlour his knees tottered, and he threw out his hands. In an instant the colonel had caught him on one side and Norah on the other. "Easy and steady," said the colonel, as he led him to his armchair. "Thank ye, sir; I was near gone that time. But, Lordy I why, I can scarce believe it. To think of me the corporal of the flank company and you the colonel of the battalion! How things come round, to be sure!" "Why, we are very proud of you in London," said the colonel. "And so you are actually one of the men who held Hougoumont." He looked at the bony, trembling hands, with their huge, knotted knuckles, the stringy throat, and the heaving, rounded shoulders. Could this, indeed, be the last of that band of heroes? Then he glanced at the half-filled phials, the blue liniment bottles, the long-spouted kettle, and the sordid details of the sick room. "Better, surely, had he died under the blazing rafters of the Belgian farmhouse," thought the colonel. "I hope that you are pretty comfortable and happy," he remarked after a pause.