Yet not from sight had she slipped ere feminine eyes could detect The figure of Mary Charlworth. 'It's just what we all might expect,'

Was uttered: and: 'Didn't I tell you?' Of Mary the rumour resounds, That she is now her own mistress, and mistress of five thousand pounds.

'Twas she, they say, who cruelly sent young Tom to the war.

Miss Mary, we thank you now! If you knew what we're thanking you for!

VIII

But, 'Have her in: let her hear it,' called Grandfather Bridgeman, elate, While Mary's black-gloved fingers hung trembling with flight on the gate.

Despite the women's remonstrance, two little ones, lighter than deer, Were loosed, and Mary, imprisoned, her whole face white as a tear, Came forward with culprit footsteps. Her punishment was to commence: The pity in her pale visage they read in a different sense.

IX

'You perhaps may remember a fellow, Miss Charlworth, a sort of black sheep,'

The old man turned his tongue to ironical utterance deep: 'He came of a Methodist dad, so it wasn't his fault if he kicked.

He earned a sad reputation, but Methodists are mortal strict.

His name was Tom, and, dash me! but Bridgeman! I think you might add: Whatever he was, bear in mind that he came of a Methodist dad.'

X

This prelude dismally lengthened, till Mary, starting, exclaimed, 'A letter, Sir, from your grandson?' 'Tom Bridgeman that rascal is named,'

The old man answered, and further, the words that sent Tom to the ranks Repeated as words of a person to whom they all owed mighty thanks.

But Mary never blushed: with her eyes on the letter, she sate, And twice interrupting him faltered, 'The date, may I ask, Sir, the date?'

XI

'Why, that's what I never look at in a letter,' the farmer replied: 'Facts first! and now I'll be parson.' The Bridgeman women descried A quiver on Mary's eyebrows. One turned, and while shifting her comb, Said low to a sister: 'I'm certain she knows more than we about Tom.

She wants him now he's a hero!' The same, resuming her place, Begged Mary to check them the moment she found it a tedious case.

XII

Then as a mastiff swallows the snarling noises of cats, The voice of the farmer opened. '"Three cheers, and off with your hats!"

- That's Tom. "We've beaten them, Daddy, and tough work it was, to be sure!

A regular stand-up combat: eight hours smelling powder and gore.

I entered it Serjeant-Major,"--and now he commands a salute, And carries the flag of old England! Heigh! see him lift foes on his foot!

XIII

'--An officer! ay, Miss Charlworth, he is, or he is so to be; You'll own war isn't such humbug: and Glory means something, you see.

"But don't say a word," he continues, "against the brave French any more."

- That stopt me: we'll now march together. I couldn't read further before.

That "brave French" I couldn't stomach. He can't see their cunning to get Us Britons to fight their battles, while best half the winnings they net!'

XIV

The old man sneered, and read forward. It was of that desperate fight; - The Muscovite stole thro' the mist-wreaths that wrapped the chill Inkermann height, Where stood our silent outposts: old England was in them that day!

O sharp worked his ruddy wrinkles, as if to the breath of the fray They moved! He sat bareheaded: his long hair over him slow Swung white as the silky bog-flowers in purple heath-hollows that grow.

XV

And louder at Tom's first person: acute and in thunder the 'I'

Invaded the ear with a whinny of triumph, that seem'd to defy The hosts of the world. All heated, what wonder he little could brook To catch the sight of Mary's demure puritanical look?

And still as he led the onslaught, his treacherous side-shots he sent At her who was fighting a battle as fierce, and who sat there unbent.

XVI

'"We stood in line, and like hedgehogs the Russians rolled under us thick.

They frightened me there."--He's no coward; for when, Miss, they came at the quick, The sight, he swears, was a breakfast.--"My stomach felt tight: in a glimpse I saw you snoring at home with the dear cuddled-up little imps.

And then like the winter brickfields at midnight, hot fire lengthened out.

Our fellows were just leashed bloodhounds: no heart of the lot faced about.

XVII

'"And only that grumbler, Bob Harris, remarked that we stood one to ten: 'Ye fool,' says Mick Grady, 'just tell 'em they know to compliment men!'

And I sang out your old words: 'If the opposite side isn't G.o.d's, Heigh! after you've counted a dozen, the pluckiest lads have the odds.'

Ping-ping flew the enemies' pepper: the Colonel roared, Forward, and we Went at them. 'Twas first like a blanket: and then a long plunge in the sea.

XVIII

'"Well, now about me and the Frenchman: it happened I can't tell you how: And, Grandfather, hear, if you love me, and put aside prejudice now": He never says "Grandfather"--Tom don't--save it's a serious thing.

"Well, there were some pits for the rifles, just dug on our French- leaning wing: And backwards, and forwards, and backwards we went, and at last I was vexed, And swore I would never surrender a foot when the Russians charged next.

XIX

'"I know that life's worth keeping."--Ay, so it is, lad; so it is! - "But my life belongs to a woman."--Does that mean Her Majesty, Miss?

- "These Russians came lumping and grinning: they're fierce at it, though they are blocks.

Our fellows were pretty well pumped, and looked sharp for the little French c.o.c.ks.

Lord, didn't we pray for their crowing! when over us, on the hill- top, Behold the first line of them skipping, like kangaroos seen on the hop.

XX

'"That sent me into a pa.s.sion, to think of them spying our flight!"

Heigh, Tom! you've Bridgeman blood, boy! And, "'Face them!' I shouted: 'All right; Sure, Serjeant, we'll take their shot dacent, like gentlemen,' Grady replied.

A ball in his mouth, and the n.o.ble old Irishman dropped by my side.

Then there was just an instant to save myself, when a short wheeze Of b.l.o.o.d.y lungs under the smoke, and a red-coat crawled up on his knees.

XXI

'"'Twas Ensign Baynes of our parish."--Ah, ah, Miss Charlworth, the one Our Tom fought for a young lady? Come, now we've got into the fun!

- "I shouldered him: he primed his pistol, and I trailed my musket, prepared."

Why, that's a fine pick-a-back for ye, to make twenty Russians look scared!

"They came--never mind how many: we couldn't have run very well, We fought back to back: 'face to face, our last time!' he said, smiling, and fell.

XXII

'"Then I strove wild for his body: the beggars saw glittering rings, Which I vowed to send to his mother. I got some hard knocks and sharp stings, But felt them no more than angel, or devil, except in the wind.

I know that I swore at a Russian for showing his teeth, and he grinned The harder: quick, as from heaven, a man on a horse rode between, And fired, and swung his bright sabre: I can't write you more of the scene.

XXIII