He clapped a hand upon my shoulder, and looking down upon me very kindly, with yet a comical glitter of mirth in his eye,--"Why, my brave boy," said he, "I would very willingly do you a service, whether for your brave deed or your pretty manners. But, if you will take an old soldier's counsel," and at this word he twirled his small and very black mustachios mighty fiercely, "you will not risk offending so great a man as William, Prince of Orange-Nassau, in so strongly rising a tide of your fortune. _Mon Dieu!_" he cried, laughing and looking in my face too close and keenly for my comfort, "if the lad is not shy and timorous as any girl!" And with that he thrust his arm through mine, and, "If you will ever bear that commission His Highness named," he said, "you must learn to sit at meat with soldiers without blushing. Come, let us go in and contrive that we sit together. I doubt not that and a bumper or two will give you courage!" After which I dared say no more, but, as he would have haled me by force into the dining-hall, I begged him stay a moment while I spoke with Christopher Kidd, to whom calling as he hung forlorn and hesitating on our rear, I begged him to ride out and pick up as many as might be of our straggling troop, and to send them one and all back to Drayton with news that all was well. Some signs of mirth appearing upon Christopher's face, which in that predicament of mine I found very foolish and inconvenient, I continued in harder tones and with words of command in place of forms of request: "Though you are but a soldier of a day, Kidd, I believe you know very well under whose command Sir Michael Drayton's small body of horse left home. Find of them such as you may within the space of two hours, and see that they carry out my orders. At the end of that time you will report here to the officer of the guard, and await my further pleasure to escort me on my return. I dine with His Highness." Though little used to command, I was not unaccustomed to be obeyed, and Christopher, closing his mouth on his foolish grin with a jerk, saluted and marched off to the orchard and his horse with promptitude worthy of a veteran. "Well spoken, little soldier!" cried M. de Rondiniacque. "These raw levies are the devil, and thrive on a diet of brimstone. 'T is true they need curses for the most part, but, _mort de ma vie!_ we have not all such eyes as you to flash lightning on our recruits."