world to take him to my heart, but I was on parole. So we stared at each other, and I can only hope he was as well satisfied with his inspection as I was with mine.

“Does your mother know of your coming?” I asked, for I was determined to take no unfair advantage.

“She told me I could come,” he answered, without any backwardness, yet with modesty.

“Good. Well, what do you think?”

“Why do you sleep in your clothes?”

“Oh, a soldier often sleeps in his clothes.”

“But I don't think you're a soldier.”

“Why?”

“Where is your sword?”

“I'll get that by-and-by.”

“If I was a soldier I'd sleep with my sword.”

“Well, you'd find it a mighty uncomfortable bedfellow,” I answered, laughing. At which he laughed too, and we were fast becoming friends.

“Will you be a soldier?” I went on.

“I don't know. What's your name?”

“One moment, my young diplomat. Do you never answer a question but by asking another? Surely you're not a Scotchman?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, what do you think you are?”

“I think I'm a Methodist.”

“So you are. But that may be much the same thing, for aught I know. My name's Captain Geraldine. Now tell me yours.”

“Christopher. Can you sing?”

“I can sing, my boy, like a mavis, like a bird-of-paradise. Would you like to taste my quality?” and without more ado I sang to him.