"I'm not thinking of it at all, your honor," the Irishman said. "The master has been telling me that your honors are starting for the war, and so I've made up my mind that I shall go along wid ye."
The boys laughed.
"You are not in earnest, Tim?"
"As sure as the Gospels, your honor I've served five years in the Cork Militia, and wore the badge as a marksman; and so I mean to 'list, and go as your honors' sarvint."
"But you can't do that, Tim, even if we would let you," Ralph laughed. "There won't be any servants at all."
"Sure, your honor is mistaken, entirely," Tim said, gravely. "In the sarvice, a soldier is always told off as a sarvint for each officer."
"But we are not going as officers, Tim," Percy said. "We are going as simple soldiers."
"What! Going as privates?" Tim Doyle said, in astonishment. "Does your honor mane to say that you are going to shoulder a firelock, and just go as privates?"
"That's it, Tim. You see, this is not a regular regiment; it is a corps of irregulars, and more than half the privates are gentlemen."
"Holy Mother!" ejaculated Tim, in astonishment, "did one ever hear of the like?"