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“Right section, fire!” and there was a deafening banging.

The enemy’s officer said something, and then the enemy got confused and tried to get into the fields through the hedges. But all was vain. There was firing now from our men, on the left as well as the right. And then our Colonel strode nobly up to the enemy’s Colonel and demanded surrender. He told me so afterwards. His exact words are only known to himself and the other Colonel. But the enemy’s Colonel said, “I would rather die than surrender,” or words to that effect.

Our Colonel returned to his men and gave the order to fix bayonets, and even Oswald felt his manly cheek turn pale at the thought of the amount of blood about to be shed. What would have happened can never now be revealed. For at this moment a man on a piebald horse came clattering over a hedge–as carelessly as if the air was not full of lead and steel at all. Another man rode behind him with a lance and a red pennon on it. I think he must have been the enemy’s General coming to tell his men not to throw away their lives on a forlorn hope, for directly he said they were captured the enemy gave in and owned that they were. The enemy’s Colonel saluted and ordered his men to form quarter column again. I should have thought he would have had about enough of that myself.

He had now given up all thought of sullen resistance to the bitter end. He rolled a cigarette for himself, and had the foreign cheek to say to our Colonel:

“By Jove, old man, you got me clean that time! Your scouts seem to have marked us down uncommonly neatly.”

It was a proud moment when our Colonel laid his military hand on Oswald’s shoulder and said:

“This is my chief scout,” which were high words, but not undeserved, and Oswald owns he felt red with gratifying pride when he heard them.

“So you are the traitor, young man,” said the wicked Colonel, going on with his cheek.

Oswald bore it because our Colonel had, and you should be generous to a fallen foe, but it is hard to be called a traitor when you haven’t.

He did not treat the wicked Colonel with silent scorn as he might have done, but he said:

“We aren’t traitors. We are the Bastables and one of us is a Foulkes. We only mingled unsuspected with the enemy’s soldiery and learned the secret of their acts, which is what Baden-Powell always does when the natives rebel in South Africa; and Denis Foulkes thought of altering the sign-posts to lead the foe astray. And if we did cause all this fighting, and get Maidstone threatened with capture and all that, it was only because we didn’t believe Greek things could happen in Great Britain and Ireland, even if you sow dragon’s teeth, and besides, some of us were not asked about sowing them.”

Then the Cocked-Hatted One led his horse and walked with us and made us tell him all about it, and so did the Colonel. The wicked Colonel listened too, which was only another proof of his cheek.

And Oswald told the tale in the modest yet manly way that some people think he has, and gave the others all the credit they deserved. His narration was interrupted no less than four times by shouts of “Bravo!” in which the enemy’s Colonel once more showed his cheek by joining. By the time the story was told we were in sight of another camp. It was the British one this time. The Colonel asked us to have tea in his tent, and it only shows the magnanimosity of English chivalry in the field of battle that he asked the enemy’s Colonel too. With his usual cheek he accepted. We were jolly hungry.

When every one had had as much tea as they possibly could, the Colonel shook hands with us all, and to Oswald he said: