"I have done as you told me, Master Yorke, but I feel so queer that I hardly know myself."
"That will soon pass off, Hans; and you look a hundred per cent better. Now, let us go off to one of the stores."
Here he found no difficulty in obtaining a suit that fairly fitted his follower. It consisted of a corded velveteen shooting jacket, and breeches of the same material; brown stockings of a colour to match; a waistcoat to be put on when the evening's cold set in; four flannel shirts, and a couple of dark-blue silk neck-ties. From the same store he procured two pairs of strong laced boots. A wide-awake of the ordinary size completed the attire. Hans had already, at Yorke's orders hired a room for himself, and his new purchases having been put in a bag, he carried them off to it. Yorke remained outside for a quarter of an hour, and Hans then rejoined him in his new clothes.
"I am quite sure, Hans, you might ride up to the house, and neither your master nor mistress would know you, but would take you for some young farmer stopping on his way down country to ask for a night's hospitality."
"I don't know how I look, Master Yorke, but I don't feel comfortable at all. There doesn't seem room for me to move in these clothes."
"Nonsense, Hans! They are loose everywhere, though not so baggy as the others. By the way, you had better keep the others; you would be less likely to be noticed in them if you entered a strange place than you would be now."
"I don't care about being noticed," Hans said. "I would have as much right to be there as anyone else."
Yorke laughed. "Well, Hans, as you have agreed to go with me—and you know very well that my intention is, if possible, to get some job with our army—I can see that there might be plenty of occasions when you might be going into places with me where we should not wish to be noticed."
A day or two after his arrival, as Yorke stood on the doorsteps hesitating which way he should go, a young officer who was entering stopped and looked hard at him. "Hulloa!" he said, "you are Harberton, are you not?"
"Yes, and you are Parkinson."