"I beg yer pardon, Mr. Caldwell."
"Nothing, sir. I should like to know, though, what Glover means by salvation."
"The man's quite right to stand up for his General, Caldwell."
"It's not only because I'm that, sir," answered Glover, with sudden animation, "it's because I, and all who have been under him, know what he can do. Oh, I know it's said he's only fought against savages hitherto, but, all the same, savages though they were, the Mahongas were giving us a pretty bad time till the Coney's Drift affair. Precious little thanks he got for it too, only abuse from the Radicals, and the name of Butcher Graeme. It was a bloody business, I own, but that's his way, and in my opinion the right way too. Anyhow, it finished the war; the Mahongas hadn't a kick left in them after that. There was his work in Georgistan, too——"
"Tell us about the ghost, Glover," interrupted Newton, yawning.
"Ghost, what do you mean, Newton?" asked Macpherson.
"Surely you've heard the yarn, sir? General Graeme's supposed to keep a tame spook, which he consults before fighting a battle. It's common talk, sir; I thought everyone knew."
Macpherson looked at Glover, despite himself, a Highlander's interest in the subject gleaming in his eyes.
"A lie, I suppose, like most of the gossip about him," he said. "Eh, Glover?" But the boy hesitated, at a loss what to say.
"There's no ghost, sir," he said at length, "at least, neither I nor any one else I know has seen it."