“‘The round,’ says the general, looking about all the time to see where was the sentry, for my father was snug under the tree.
“‘What round?’ says my father.
“‘The grand round,’ says the general, more puzzled than afore.
“‘Pass on, grand round, and God save you kindly!’ says my father, putting his pipe in his mouth again, for he thought all was over.
“‘D—n your soul, where are you?’ says the general, for sorrow bit of my father could he see yet.
“‘It’s here I am,’ says he, ‘and a cowld place I have of it; and if it wasn’t for the pipe I’d be lost entirely.’
“The words wasn’t well out of his mouth when the general began laughing, till ye’d think he’d fall off his horse; and the dragoon behind him—more by token, they say it wasn’t right for him—laughed as loud as himself.
“‘Yer a droll sentry,’ says the general, as soon as he could speak.
“‘Be-gorra, it’s little fun there’s left in me,’ says my father, ‘with this drilling, and parading, and blackguarding about the roads all night.’
“‘And is this the way you salute your officer?’ says the general.