“Dang it, it's too bad!” said the sympathising James; “and when do thee go?”
“Next March, to be sure,” replied Giles, with a spirit which was natural to him—indeed, as to any artificial spirit, it was really foreign to his lips.
“But thee are such a scare-crow, Giles,” said James; “thee are thin as a weasel.”
“My drumsticks,” answered he, smiling, “may recommend me to the band—mayhap—for I do think they'll beat anything.”
“I don't like sogering neither,” said James, thoughtfully. “Suppose the French make a hole in thee with a bagnet—”
“Whoy, then, I shall be 'sewed up,' thee know.”
“That's mighty foine,” replied James, shaking his head; “but I'd rather not, thank'ye.”
“Oh! Jeames, a mother-in-law's a greater bore than a bagnet, depend on't; and it's my mind, it's better to die in a trench than afore an empty trencher—I'll list.”
And with this unalterable determination, the half-starved, though still merry Giles, quitted his companion; and the following month, in pursuance of the resolve he had made, he enlisted in his Majesty's service. Fortunately for the youth, he received more billets than bullets, and consequently grew out of knowledge, although he obtained a world of information in his travels; and, at the expiration of the war, returned to his native village covered with laurels, and in the Joyment of the half-pay of a corporal, to which rank he had been promoted in consequence of his meritorious conduct in the Peninsula. His father was still living, but his step-nother was lying quietly in the church-yard.
“I hope, father,” said the affectionate Giles, “that thee saw her buried in a deep grave, and laid a stone a-top of her?”