“But that’s a grand regulation they have,” said Mick, “wid the short service nowadays. Where’s the hardship in it when a man can quit at the ind of three year, if he’s so plased? Three year’s no time to speak of.” “Sure, not at all; you’d scarce notice it passin’ by. Like Barney Bralligan’s song that finished before it begun--isn’t that the way of it, ma’am?” “It’s a goodish len’th of a while,” said Mrs. Doherty. “But thin there’s the lave; don’t be forgettin’ the lave, Paddy man. Supposin’ we--” “Tub be sure, there’s the lave. Why, it’s skytin’ home on lave they do be most continial. And the Edenderrys is movin’ no farther than just to Athlone; that’s as handy a place as you could get.” “You’d not thravel from this to Athlone in the inside of a week, if it was iver so handy,” said Mrs. Doherty. “Is it a week? Och! blathershins, Mrs. Doherty, ma’am, you’re mistook intirely. Sure, onst you’ve stepped into the town yonder, the train’ll take you there in a flash. And the trains do be oncommon convenient.” “Free passes!” prompted Mick. “Ay, bedad, and free passes they’ll give to any souldier takin’ his furlough; so sorra the expense ’t would be supposin’ Mick here had a notion to slip home of an odd day and see you.” “_Mick_!” said Mrs. Doherty. “Och well, I was just supposin’. But I’m tould”--the many remarkable facts which Paddy had been tould lost nothing in repetition--“that they’ll sometimes have out a special train for a man in the army, if he wants to go anywhere partic’lar in a hurry; there’s iligance for you. And as for promotion, it’s that plinty you’ll scarce git time to remimber your rank from one day to the next, whether it’s a full private you are, or a lance-corporal, or maybe somethin’ greater. Troth, there’s nothin’ a man mayn’t rise to. And then, Mrs. Doherty, it’s the proud woman you’d be--_anybody’d_ be--that they hadn’t stood in the way of it. And pensions--he might be pensioned off wid as much as a couple of shillin’s a day.” “Not this long while yet, plase the pigs,” broke out Mick, squaring his shoulders, as if Time were a visible antagonist, and momentarily forgetting the matter immediately in hand. “But there’s chances in it--splendid--och, it’s somethin’ you may call livin’.” “And,” said his friend, “the rations, I’m tould, is surprisin’ these times. The top of everythin’ that’s to be got, uncooked, widout bone.”