“Ay, sir, that’s the way you take it over such things. That there garden ought to be turned into a drilling-ground; you know it ought.”
“If there does come any need for it, the garden can go,” said Roy, “but not until the very last.”
“That’s right, sir. Only, if we’re besieged, it will have to go. Now, let me see—that makes nine buff coats, and one more’s ten, for Farmer Raynes’s lot. Ought to give the farmer something a bit smarter, oughtn’t I, as he’ll expect to be a sergeant, won’t he?”
“He’ll like to be over his men.”
“But, you see, he’s a big one, and there’s a buff coat would suit him exact. I’ll tell you what, sir, if he has the same as the others, and a scarf, and a feather in his cap, he’ll be satisfied.”
“I should say so, Ben.”
“Then scarf and feather it shall be, sir. I’ll have all their arms and things ready for to-night; then they can have ’em in the morning when they come, and it’ll put all them straw-whopping fellows in a good temper, and make ’em easy to drill. I want to pick out so many fellows for the big guns that we must have some more in soon. But it’s better to go gently. Saves a lot of confusion.”
“What’s the next thing to do, Ben?”
“Everything, sir. Powder-bags to fill. Stores to get in. We must have a new flag. Place cleared out for garrison quarters. Something done to the two old guard-rooms on each side of the gate. We’ve months of work to do, sir, try how we may, but we’re going to do it, Master Roy, and—Oh,” continued the old fellow, pausing for a few moments in his task of taking down belts and swords to lay one on each buff coat below the steel caps just set out ready, “there’s that other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What other thing, Ben?”