“No more we will. Come an' have a dhrink, me son,' sez Peg Barney, staggerin' where he stud. Me little orf'cer bhoy kep' his timper. “'You're a sulky swine, you are,' sez Peg Barney, an' at that the men in the tent began to laugh. “I tould you me orf'cer bhoy had bowils. He cut Peg Barney as near as might be on the oi that I'd squshed whin we first met. Peg wint spinnin' acrost the tent. “Peg him out, Sorr,' sez I, in a whishper. “Peg him out!' sez me orf'cer bhoy, up loud, just as if 'twas battalion p'rade an' he pickin' his wurrds from the Sargint. “The non-coms tuk Peg Barney--a howlin' handful he was--an' in three minut's he was pegged out--chin down, tight-dhrawn--on his stummick, a tent-peg to each arm an' leg, swearin' fit to turn a naygur white. “I tuk a peg an'' jammed ut into his ugly jaw--'Bite on that, Peg Barney,' I sez; 'the night is settin' frosty, an' you'll be wantin' divarsion before the mornin'. But for the Rig'lations you'd be bitin' on a bullet now at the thriangles, Peg Barney,' sez I. “All the draf' was out av their tents watchin' Barney bein' pegged. “''Tis agin the Rig'lations! He strook him!' screeches out Scrub Greene, who was always a lawyer; an' some of the men tuk up the shoutin'. “'Peg out that man!' sez me orf'cer bhoy, niver losin' his timper; an' the non-coms wint in and pegged out Scrub Greene by the side av Peg Barney. “I cud see that the draf' was comin' roun'. The men stud not knowin' fwhat to do. “'Get to your tents!' sez me orf'cer bhoy. 'Sargint, put a sinthry over these two men.' “The men wint back into the tents like jackals, an' the rest av the night there was no noise at all excipt the stip av the sinthry over the two, an' Scrub Greene blubberin' like a child. 'Twas a chilly night, an' faith, ut sobered Peg Barney. “Just before Revelly, me orf'cer bhoy comes out an' sez: 'Loose those men an' send thim to their tents!' Scrub Greene wint away widout a word, but Peg Barney, stiff wid the cowld, stud like a sheep, thryin' to make his orf'cer undherstand he was sorry for playin' the goat. “There was no tucker in the draf' whin ut fell in for the march, an' divil a wurrd about 'illegality' cud I hear. “I wint to the ould Colour-Sargint and I sez:--'Let me die in glory,' sez I. 'I've seen a man this day!' “'A man he is,' sez ould Hother; 'the draf's as sick as a herrin'. They'll all go down to the sea like lambs. That bhoy has the bowils av a cantonmint av Gin'rals.' “'Amin,' sez I, 'an' good luck go wid him, wheriver he be, by land or by sea. Let me know how the draf' gets clear.'