“Oh, the engineers may have been digging about a bit. And this certainly is a modern shelter trench. There are battles fought here, you know, whenever the generals are too lazy to go as far as the Fox Hills,” said Strachan, irreverently.
“But look at the view. Over there to the left, where you see the queer-shaped black wood, is Sir Walter Scott’s novel—what’s his name: the first one and the least interesting; at least, I could never get through it.”
“Waverley,” said Kavanagh. “Don’t expose your ignorance and want of taste, Strachan. You could not see the abbey if we went there, Forsyth, or else I should have proposed it. But the grass is not cut yet, and till it is no one may go to the ruins. That is Farnham Park below us. Yonder is the Hog’s Back.”
A pretty road led them down to the park paling, which they skirted till they came to a ladder stile, which they crossed into the park, close to the solid old-world walls and towers of the bishop’s castle.
“What splendid trees!” cried Harry, as the three old friends settled themselves comfortably under one of them. “I don’t know when I have seen such beeches.”
“Very condescending of you to admire anything in England, such a traveller as you have been,” said Strachan. “And you have been to Egypt? I envy you; I have always longed to see Egypt.”
“There are more unlikely things than that when you are in the Line. Things are not settled there yet.”
“Why, Arabi’s insurrection is completely quelled, and he is a prisoner. And the Government will have nothing to do with the Soudan business, they say.”
“Who is they? One set of theys say so, and another set of theys say we can’t help having to do with it, let the Quakers say what they will. For my part, I hope all will be quiet,” said Forsyth.
“Quiet!” cried Strachan. “Why, if there is no war there will be fewer vacancies, and I am less likely to get my commission in the Line!”