'Toby, dear, what priceless luck!'
It was General Sir Tobias Merriwater, K.C.B., D.S.O., M.D., F.R.C.P. All I remembered was that I had known him all my life, and never called him anything but 'Toby'.
Suddenly the warm spring day vanished, I was up at the North Pole, or the South one if it's colder, as I saw the matron's face. And then, by way of trying to ease the situation, I dropped the scullery pig pail, showered the kipper skins and apple cores, bits of bread and fat and suet, like rice and rose leaves at a wedding in the pathway of a bride.
There was an awful silence, even the officers forgot to be bored, and looked quite interested. I drew back and wished I could get right inside the pig bucket, and shut down the lid.
'Ah,' said General Sir Tobias Merriwater to the matron, 'you keep pigs?'
'Yes, sir,' said she.
She was very bright and nice to him. (I understand people are always nice and bright to Generals.)
'And this is for them, I suppose. Most commendable, very.' And the retinue passed on.
I picked up all the 'rice and rose leaves,' every bit of it by hand, and then I went and told the girl I work with in the scullery. She collapsed into the coal box, saying, 'You'll be shot at dawn,' when a hand cautiously opened the scullery window and a voice said,—
'I'll be waiting outside the gate when you go home at one o'clock, and if you would kindly hurry I think it would be better, for I'm very much afraid I shall explode.'