'My dear Miss Alice Osborne, you are far too quick for a great dunderheaded porpoise of stupidity like me. What I meant to say was, that your brother must remember some of the recorded freaks of Cross-Poll when he was a boy. You do not, I hope, accuse me,' he asked sincerely, 'of implying for a moment that your brother and I were at school together? Why, we never met until we saw one another at Westpoint. When Cross-Poll was at school he was equally good at a cock-shot and a hen-roost. He could smash a bottle with a stone at forty yards, and rob a hen-roost howsoever well defended. From his fame as a robber of hen-roosts he acquired the familiar nickname of Chuck-chuck, which he took in good part. But any hint that he was liable to be called Cockadoodle-do drove him to fury. 'One day the boys asked him to bring them a couple of dozen eggs to play Blind Tom with. He was in a bad humour; hen-roosts were getting very shy and wild by this time. The boys set up a cry of "Cockadoodle-do!" His anger rose, and he went for the whole schoolful of boys. Before he was tired or satisfied he gave up and bolted for the West. That afternoon they filled the ward of the hospital out of what he left behind him in that school, besides sending home ever so many slight cases in wheelbarrows and trucks. Naturally after that Cross-Poll could not stay in the town, so he set out for fresh woods and pastures new.' 'But, Mr Nevill, I thought you were going to tell us how azaleas saved your life once. How was that?' 'So I was. You must know I was once hunting in Mexico with Cross-Poll. We had been very low in provisions for a few days, for although we had seen many buffaloes, we had never been able to get within range. Not a bird, beast, or fish could we get to eat. Cross-Poll had twice suggested we should draw lots as to which of us should kill and eat the other. But I would not hear of this. I said to him, "Cross-Poll, old man, I could not think of casting lots with you. With any other man I'm game. But I could not think of making game of you. I remember how you handled that school. But Cross-Poll, old man, you are welcome to make game of me. I always was a guy. I'll walk on before you, and, comrade, when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn." In other words, old Cross-Poll, for I knew he was not like your brother, a student of poetry, "in other words, knock me on the head." He caught my hand, and I thought he'd wring it off as he said, "Son of the pale-face, never. I'd eat railway-station pork-pie first."' 'You see, Miss Osborne, I knew my man. If we had cast lots and he won, he'd have just let me gather some grass for my own funeral-pyre, and then shot me. If he lost he'd have shot me instantly in self-defence. In a few minutes after that we came upon water and a fine bull drinking at it. He fired. The bull turned over. We built a fire, and ate and drank until we were satisfied. As we lay back smoking our pipes, Cross-Poll said to me, after a long pause--'