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 possibly could, the Colonel shook hands with us all, and to Oswald he said:

"Well, good-bye, my brave scout. I must mention your name in my despatches to the War Office."

H. O. interrupted him to say, "His name's Oswald Cecil Bastable, and mine is Horace Octavius." I wish H. O. would learn to hold his tongue. No one ever knows Oswald was chrisened Cecil as well, if he can possibly help it. You didn't know it till now.

"Mr. Oswald Bastable," the Colonel went on—he had the decency not to take any notice of the "Cecil"—"you would be a credit to any regiment. No doubt the War Office will reward you properly for what you have done for your country. But meantime, perhaps, you'll accept five shillings from a grateful comrade-in-arms."

Oswald felt heart-feltly sorry to wound the good Colonel's feelings, but he had to remark that he had only done his duty, and he was sure no British scout would take five bob for doing that. "And besides," he said, with that feeling of justice which is part of his young character, "it was the others just as much as me."

"Your sentiments, sir," said the Colonel, who was one of the politest and most discerning colonels I ever saw, "your sentiments do you honor. But, Bastables all, and—and non-Bastables" (he couldn't remember Foulkes; it's not such an interesting name as Bastable, of course), "at least you'll accept a soldier's pay?"