“Have you got all you want for the Front?” asked their mother, laughing.
“Yes, everything,” said May. “Tom has a drum and Bertie a bugle, and I am the rest of the army.”
“Very well. Don't be too long at the War, because tea will soon be ready. Better go to meet your father.”
“So we will!”
And away went the three over the white snow in the bright winter day; Tom beating the drum till it was a wonder the parchment did not burst, and Bertie blowing the bugle till he had hardly any breath left. What a splendid noise they all made together! Birds flew out of the hedges and rabbits scuttled away as the army marched on, feeling very warlike indeed; and presently met the army's father.
“Please be our General, father,” they begged, “and lead us against the enemy.”
“Certainly,” he replied; “but first we will return to camp and storm the tea-table.”
So home they went in the same fashion, with drum beating and bugle blowing.