“That’s your ambition, is it!” the captain said. “You want to become a Marlshire squire! But you must see a little more of your native land first, Tom; and I should say that a couple of years’ service in the ‘C.M.R.’ would be the best way of seeing it. Mat, my friend, let us have a glass together and drink to the welfare of the old corps?”
“With all my heart, Donald! you and I have both served in other regiments, but I am sure our happiest days were spent with the ‘Green Jackets.’”
“Do you think you will come up here, father?” inquired Tom as soon as the old comrades had drunk their toast—with “all the honours,” as old comrades should do.
“We must see what your mother says, Tom; such a ‘migration’ is not to be thought lightly of,” the Major replied. “In the meantime it may satisfy you to know that our good friend has invited us to spend a month with him next year, just to see how we like it. And now, as we have to be in the saddle by cock-crow, I think you youngsters had best turn in.”
Chapter Ten.
Farewell to Ralfontein.
“Good-bye, and a pleasant journey to you,” said Captain Jamieson, who, with his sons and daughters, had turned out at daybreak to see the last of his departing guests. “Follow the route that I have mapped out, and I stake my reputation that you will find it comparatively easy travelling.”
“Shall we come across plenty of game, Captain Jamieson?” was Tom’s eager question, as he took leave of his host. “I am very anxious to try this rifle.”