“Oh, my Captain,” he cried, “do you mean this for me? I have longed—yes, longed to wear an officer’s uniform; and I have a presentiment that if I once take off a private soldier’s coarse clothes, I shall never again wear them.”
And as quick as lightning he slipped off his rags, jumped into the uniform, and then, in the excess of his delight, he gave three loud and ear-piercing huzzas, that were half lost in the tumult of the wind. At the same moment he threw his own tattered clothes as far as he could swing them, the wind seizing and scattering them; next, he dashed away the dragoon’s sabre which he carried.
“There you go,” he shouted; “you never were any good as a weapon, and I will replace you by an officer’s sword with a gold handle. And meanwhile I will defend myself with my horse-pistol!”
St. Arnaud laughed until the tears came into his eyes. He had not in a month been so amused and interested as in this young man, so strangely found, and to whom he owed his life by the finding him. Gavin looked a little sheepish at St. Arnaud’s laughter, but was compensated by his next words.
“You are a fine-looking fellow, and you have the bearing of an officer. Why is it I never recognized you in the regiment?”
GAVIN THROWS AWAY HIS TROOPER’S SABRE
“I can’t say. I only know it was not because I did not want to be recognized. But I knew you, my Captain, and often looked at you as you stepped along so elegant, so debonair, with such beautiful cambric handkerchiefs, and such small polished boots. I heard, too, that your quarters were like a lady’s boudoir, and you had a private wagon to carry your clavier and viol da gamba!”
“Yes,” replied St. Arnaud, somewhat ruefully. “I shall know better in my next campaign.”
Gavin, then rolling himself in his blanket, lay down before the fire. By its red light his dark, upturned eyes could be seen, and they were full of hope and even joy. Defeat and disaster were lightly taken by this young soldier. In a little while, though, he was sleeping, with the soft, low breathing of a baby.