"Now I wish to
make my round of the guards." And, turning, he went striding away
towards his own quarters in the vestry.
Weldon looked after him thoughtfully. Then he uttered terse
judgment.
"Carew, that's a man," he said.
"Quite likely," Carew assented. "Women don't usually wear khaki.
Shall we go in search of Paddy?"
They found him smoking tranquilly by the churchyard gate. The old
stone wall towering above his head made good shelter from the
drizzle; and Paddy, his day's labor done, was leaning back at his
ease, exchanging adverse compliments with the half-dozen sentries
who patrolled the wall. He hailed Weldon with cordiality.
"Come along here, little Canuck," he called. "There's room for the
two of us and fine smoking. Mr. Carew can stay out in the rain. It's
worth his while, even then, for the sake of watching that pigeon-
toed cockney in the oilskins, him as is stubbing his toes in the
sand, this blessed minute."
"Shut up, Paddy," his victim retorted hotly.
"It's you that should shut up and teach the toes of you to walk
hushlike. If you go on like this, you living watchman's rattle, the
Boers can hear you, clear up in the Transvaal.
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