"Believe me, yours truly,
"W.A. ALDRIDGE—Major."
"And that's all," said Dudley, mournfully; "why, I can't believe Rob is dead—we never knew he was ill."
Roy took up the letter, and read through Rob's again. Then he looked across the blue ocean in front of him.
"Just read me that bit of the nurse's letter of the fight, Dudley. Can't you think of him marching up to the enemy?"
Dudley read the desired bit, and then with a deep drawn breath Roy said:
"He acted out the song of the drummer boys, didn't he? He marched on to meet his death like they did. I wonder how it felt. Could you have put yourself in front of the sergeant, Dudley?"
"If you had been the sergeant, I could," was the prompt reply.
"But the sergeant hadn't been kind to him. Oh, Rob, Rob."
"Don't cry so, old chap, you'll make yourself ill. He's happy now. Don't you think we'd better be going in?"