“Here! Quick,” whispered Tom. “Give me my bugle.”
“Shan’t. I want it,” replied the boy coolly.
“But you must. Here’s the Colonel and half the officers reined up at the side to see us go by.”
He snatched the bugle away as he spoke and threw the cord over his shoulder, drawing himself up smartly, and keeping step with the guard.
Mrs Corporal Beane had caught sight of the group of officers they were approaching, and with her heart in her mouth as she called it, she hurried up to the side of the mule, catching up to it just as they came abreast of the Colonel, a quiet stern-looking officer whose hair was sprinkled with grey.
Nothing escaped his sharp eyes, and he pressed his horse’s side and rode close to the baggage mule.
“What boy’s that, my good woman?”
“Mine, sir,” said Mrs Beane huskily.
“Indeed? Is that the little fellow who was found in the burned village?”
“Yes, sir,” faltered the woman, as she gazed in the Colonel’s stern frowning countenance.