“Sure enough, it is Kellerman,” said Ethel. “Well, what has come to Winnipeg?”
“War,” said Jane solemnly. “And a good many more of the boys will be going too, if they are any good.”
As Kellerman came stepping along he caught sight of the girls standing there, but no sign of recognition did he make. He was too anxious to be considered a soldier for that. Steadiness was one of the primary principles knocked into the minds of recruits by the Sergeant Major.
The girls moved along after the column had passed at a sufficient distance to escape the rabble. At the drill hall they found the street blocked by a crowd of men, women and children.
“What is all this, I wonder?” said Ethel. “Let us wait here awhile. Perhaps we may come across some one we know.”
It was a strange crowd that gathered about the entrance to the drill hall, not the usual assemblage of noisy, idly curious folk of the lighter weight that are wont to follow a marching battalion or gather to the sound of a band. It was composed of substantial and solid people, serious in face and quiet in demeanour. They were there on business, a business of the gravest character. As the girls stood waiting they heard far down Broadway the throbbing of drums.
“Listen, Ethel,” cried Jane. “The Pipes!”
“The Pipes!” echoed Ethel in great excitement. “The Kilties!”
Above the roll and rattle of the drums they caught those high, heart-thrilling sounds which for nearly two hundred years have been heard on every famous British battlefield, and which have ever led Scotland's sons down the path of blood and death to imperishable glory.
A young Ninetieth officer, intent on seeing that the way was kept clear for the soldiers, came striding out of the armoury.