"Well, sir," said Sherebiah slowly, looking down at his boots, "'tis an awk'ard matter for a man o' peace. 'Tis a line o' life I ha' no love for. To be sarvant to a man o' war is next to bein' a man o' war yourself. Not but what I'd be proud to sarve 'ee, Master Harry; no man more; but them as take the sword shall fall by the sword, as the Book says, and I take that for a warnen to have none on 't."
"A lame argument, Sherry."
"True, sir, haven no larnen I feel it so. And will 'ee go shoulder to shoulder with our English sojers?"
There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
"That I can't say. I hope that my regiment won't be left out in the cold."
"Well, sir, there's a providence in't. Them above knows what they're about, to be sure, in a general way, and I bean't agwine to set up for knowen better. I'll sarve 'ee, sir, polish your breastplate, currycomb your horse, oil your boots, clean your pistols, keep an eye on the sutlers, and——"
"You seem to have a good notion of your new duties," said Harry, laughing.
"Pretty good, sir, for a man o' peace," said Sherebiah imperturbably. "And when do 'ee mount your horse as a sojer, Master Harry?"
"Zoon," put in Grootz. "General van Santen himself will introduce him to his broder officers; he tell me zo."
"Ay, so. Well, 'tis a world o' changes. For you, sir, 'tis a change for the better, barren 'ee bean't killed; for me,—well, the truth on't is, I fear 'tis the beginnen o' the end for Sherebiah Stand-up-and-Bless."