setting them to guard lines of communication.” And this would have been done but for the fact that British Regiments were wanted--badly wanted--at the Front, and there were doubtful Native Regiments that could fill the minor duties. “Brigade 'em with two strong Regiments,” said Headquarters. “They may be knocked about a bit, but they'll learn their business before they come through. Nothing like a night-alarm and a little cutting-up of stragglers to make a Regiment smart in the field. Wait till they've had half a dozen sentries' throats cut.” The Colonel wrote with delight that the temper of his men was excellent, that the Regiment was all that could be wished, and as sound as a bell. The Majors smiled with a sober joy, and the subalterns waltzed in pairs down the Mess-room after dinner, and nearly shot themselves at revolver-practice. But there was consternation in the hearts of Jakin and Lew. What was to be done with the Drums? Would the Band go to the Front? How many of the Drums would accompany the Regiment? They took counsel together, sitting in a tree and smoking. “It's more than a bloomin' toss-up they'll leave us be'ind at the Depot with the women. You'll like that,” said Jakin sarcastically. “Cause o' Cris, y' mean? Wot's a woman, or a 'ole bloomin' depot o' women, 'longside o' the chanst of field-service? You know I'm as keen on goin' as you,” said Lew. “Wish I was a bloomin' bugler,” said Jakin sadly. “They'll take Tom Kidd along, that I can plaster a wall with, an' like as not they won't take us.” “Then let's go an' make Tom Kidd so bloomin' sick 'e can't bugle no more. You 'old 'is 'ands an' I'll kick him,” said Lew, wriggling on the branch. “That ain't no good neither. We ain't the sort o' characters to presoom on our rep'tations--they're bad. If they have the Band at the Depot we don't go, and no error there. If they take the Band we may get cast for medical unfitness. Are you medical fit, Piggy?” said Jakin, digging Lew in the ribs with force. “Yus,” said Lew with an oath. “The Doctor says your 'eart's weak through smokin' on an empty stummick. Throw a chest an' I'll try yer.” Jakin threw out his chest, which Lew smote with all his might. Jakin turned very pale, gasped, crowed, screwed up his eyes, and said--“That's all right.” “You'll do,” said Lew. “I've 'eard o' men dying when you 'it 'em fair on the breastbone.” “Don't bring us no nearer goin', though,” said Jakin. “Do you know where we're ordered?” “Gawd knows, an' 'E won't split on a pal. Somewheres up to the Front to kill Paythans--hairy big beggars that turn you inside out if they get 'old o' you. They say their women are good-looking, too.” “Any loot?” asked the abandoned Jakin. “Not a bloomin' anna, they say, unless you dig up the ground an' see what the niggers 'ave 'id. They're a poor lot.” Jakin stood upright on the branch and gazed across the plain. “Lew,” said he, “there's the Colonel coming. 'Colonel's a good old beggar. Let's go an' talk to 'im.”