"Attention! Stand at ease!" said Nandy, drawing himself up to the salute.
"The Lord deliver us!" screamed Susannah, dropping teapot and cream-dish together: and at the sound of it a dozen gentlemen in regimentals came rushing out from their arbours. Before Nandy knew whether he stood on his heels or his head one of these gentlemen had gripped him by the collar, and was requiring him to say instanter what the devil he meant by it.
"Why, damme," shouted someone, "if 'tisn't the uniform of the Thirty-second! Here! Shilston! Appleshaw!"
"What's wrong?"
"The fellow belongs to yours."
"The deuce he does! Slew him round and show his face."
"Oh, Nandy, Nandy!"—this was Miss Sophia's voice—"Have you really been and gone and enlisted!"
"No, miss, I ha'n't,"—by this time Nandy was blubbering for very fright. He tore himself loose and fell at Miss Sophia's feet. "But I was takin' a bath, miss—for my skin's sake, as advised by you—and a sojer came and took my clothes by main force,"—here Nandy sobbed aloud—"I—I think, miss, he must ha' meant to desert!"
"Hey!" One of the officers took him again by the collar. "What's that you're saying? A deserter… left you these clothes and bolted?… Oh, stop your whining and answer! When? Where?"
Nandy checked his tears—but not his sobs—and pointed. "Down by the foreshore, sir… not a quarter of an hour since… he took the way up the Lynher, towards St. Germans…"