besom-maker was not long in finding the haystack under which I had left them sitting. Tired out with walking, and weary of waiting for me, they were fast asleep on some loose hay pulled out of the rick. We had some difficulty in waking them, after which we all proceeded to the hut, made a hearty supper of barley bread and cheese and spring water. Our host placed a log of wood on the fire, and we slept upon the bed of heather that formed the working material for his brooms until morning, when the kind-hearted old man trudged off to the village, and soon returned with a can of nice new milk and a huge loaf of barley bread, of which we ate our fill; and after promising him to return to our homes, where, he said, “all would blow over in the course of a day or two,” we left him, and made our way on to the high road. We then held a council as to whether we should return home, or continue our course as far as Sheffield, and enlist in a regiment that we knew to be quartered there.

Hal Glover was the first to turn tail, and at once commenced his journey homewards. Ned bid him good-bye and called him “chicken-hearted,” and trudged on with me in a contrary direction. However, he frequently turned round to look at Harry’s fast receding form.

At last we came to a sharp turn in the road. A tear stood in the boy’s eye as he came to a standstill.

“I cannot leave Harry and my mother, Fred.” said he; “I will go back to W—, let the consequences be what they may. Good-bye, Trenchard,” and as he took my hand in his I could see the big tears rolling down his cheeks. He could not speak; but he pulled me towards him, as much as to say, “Come with me,” and if the truth must be told, I would rather have returned with him than have gone on; but I thought of the taunts and jeers that I should be sure to experience from the greater part of the lads in the village. So I wended my way to Sheffield.

I arrived at Sheffield on the same night, and at once inquired my way to the barracks. The Second Dragoon Guards (Queen’s Bays) were lying there at that time. Entering the gates, I was at once interrogated by the sentry as to what I wanted.

“I want to enlist,” said I.

It was nightfall. A rousing fire was burning in the guard-room, through the window of which I could perceive a group of soldiers seated around, some smoking, some eating, others talking and laughing, more or less.

I saw a slightly-built, gentlemanly looking figure at the door.

“Corporal of the guard,” shouted the sentry, and that functionary instantly appeared. “This young fellow wants for to join the reg’ment.”

“This way, my lad,” said the corporal; and forthwith he entered the guard-room.

Presently he came out, and I never saw him again. I learned, however, that the next day an old limb of the law hunted him up, and induced him to give up his intention of enlisting, and made all things pleasant with the Queen’s Bays by leaving them a golden medal of their mistress.

It was my turn now. I walked in.

“Well, my hearty,” said one of the soldiers, “come up to the roast,” as he made way for me to be seated near him. The corporal cast his eye from my head to my feet as I neared the light.

“Not big enough, nor never will be,” he said, folding his arms.

The standard of dragoon guards at that period (more than twenty years ago) was not less than six feet for full grown, or five feet ten inches for growing lads whose appearance indicated that they would attain the desired height ere they had left off growing. I was under five feet seven, and was at once pronounced as “never likely to be a six-foot man,” and therefore not eligible for their regiment; however, the corporal said I could sleep in barracks that night, if I thought proper, and he would introduce me to the recruiting sergeant of another regiment—then in the town—on the following day. To this I consented; and the guard orderly escorted me to one of the barrack-rooms, in which there were eight beds ranged side by side.

The bedsteads were of iron, and the beds stuffed with straw. To one of these I was shown as belonging to one of the men on guard and therefore vacant. There was an air of snug comfort in the room that contrasted favourably with the cold blustering wind outside. A good fire was burning in a large grate, the white belts, black sabretaches, and burnished scabbards hung around the room and glittered in the fire light. The carbines were neatly arranged in the “rack” with a bone “snapper” in each hammer—placed there in lieu of the flint—for the new percussion-caps were not in use at that period. The uniforms—scarlet coats with swallow-tails, and brass shoulder-scales—were neatly wrapped up and piled with the kit and spare clothing upon a shelf over each man’s bed. The men were apparently as happy as a family—some were smoking and chatting, one was reading a newspaper, another writing a letter, and one, a “mounted orderly” just come in from a long ride, was busy cooking two herrings for his supper.

“Come to the fire,” said one of the men.

I walked up and took my seat on one of the wood forms near the grate.

“I feel very dry,” said the one who had now commenced to eat the herrings.

“Divil doubt you, an’ so you ought to feel dhry, you murtherin cannibal, for there you sit ating two as fine fellows of your own spacies as ever tuk a bath in the salt say,” said an old looking soldier.

“Jerry,” said the “orderly,” “have you any money?”

“Niver a farden,” said Jerry—the man who had jokingly called him a “cannibal.”

“I’ve got some,” said I, displaying one shilling and fivepence—all I had left.

“Bravo, youngster,” said the orderly, “will you pay for a quart of ale?”

“Yes, for two quarts if you like,” said I.

“Might as well have a gallon while we are about it, that’ll jist be a pint apiece,” said a big lump of a fellow rising from one of the beds, where he had been lying and smoking a dirty short pipe without speaking a word until now.

“Mind your own business, you moon-snuffing omedhaun, and let the lad do as he plases,” said the Irishman.

“I’ve only this one shilling and fivepence in copper, or I would pay for two or three gallons of beer,” said I.

“Do you live in Sheffield?” inquired the orderly.

“I came here from W—, to enlist, but they say I’m not tall enough,” said I.

“And what are you going to do next?”

“’List in another regiment,” said I.

“S’pose you don’t pass the doctor, what shall you do then?”

I had never thought of that, and therefore could only say I didn’t know.

I now began to see the extent of my folly in leaving home in such a pitiable plight, without money or friends. If I did not enlist and pass the doctor, only fivepence would stand between me and absolute starvation. The orderly no doubt perceived my embarrassment.

“I’ll not hev any ale to-night. Hand me that pitcher of water there beside you,” said he.

“Faix an’ you must be a foolish young gossoon to lave home widout money. You’ll be in a purty