But Jakin had slid down the trunk and doubled in the direction of the Colonel. That officer was walking wrapped in thought and visions of a C. B. yes, even a K. C. B., for had he not at command one of the best Regiments of the Line—the Fore and Fit? And he was aware of two small boys charging down upon him. Once before it had been solemnly reported to him that “the Drums were in a state of mutiny,” Jakin and Lew being the ringleaders. This looked like an organised conspiracy.
The boys halted at twenty yards, walked to the regulation four paces, and saluted together, each as well set-up as a ramrod and little taller.
The Colonel was in a genial mood; the boys appeared very forlorn and unprotected on the desolate plain, and one of them was handsome.
“Well!” said the Colonel, recognising them. “Are you going to pull me down in the open? I'm sure I never interfere with you, even though”—he sniffed suspiciously—“you have been smoking.”
It was time to strike while the iron was hot. Their hearts beat tumultuously.
“Beg y' pardon, Sir,” began Jakin. “The Reg'ment's ordered on active service, Sir?”
“So I believe,” said the Colonel courteously.
“Is the Band goin', Sir?” said both together. Then, without pause, “We're goin', Sir, ain't we?”
“You!” said the Colonel, stepping back the more fully to take in the two small figures. “You! You'd die in the first march.”
“No, we wouldn't, Sir. We can march with the Reg'ment anywheres—p'rade an' anywhere else,” said Jakin.