War, I began to think, must be very nice indeed.
Ah! but Cracker, the fur hadn’t begun to fly yet.
Well, master’s servant was a very tall fighting-man of the Highlanders, whom his comrades called Jock McNab.
“McNab,” said my master one day.
The red-faced, big pleasant man saluted.
“What’s your wull?” said Jock McNab.
“Shireen knows you well by this time.”
“Ah! ’deed she does,” said Jock, “and lo’es me too.”
“Well, Mac, we’ve both got to look after her. Do you think when we get into grips with the enemy, that Shireen would sit on top of your knapsack?”
“Weel,” said Jock, “if you’ll gie me leave, sir, I’ll soon drill her to that.”