"Fond of hunting, eh?" asked Scantlebray, stretching his legs and rubbing his hands. "You are like me—like to be in at the death. What do you suppose I have in my pocket? Why, a fox with a fiery tail. Shall we run him to earth? Shall we make an end of him? Tally-ho! Tally-ho! here he is. Oh, sly Reynard, I have you by the ears." And forth from the tail-pocket of his coat Scantlebray produced a bottle of brandy. "What say you, corporal, shall we drink his blood? Bring me a couple of glasses and I'll pour out his gore."
"I haven't any," said Jamie. "Ju and I have two mugs, that is all."
"And they will do famously. Here goes—off with the mask!" and with a blow he knocked away the head and cork of the bottle. "No more running away for you, my beauty, except down our throats. Mugs! That is famous. Come, shall, we play at army and navy, and the forfeit be a drink of Reynard's blood?"
Jamie pricked up his ears; he was always ready for a game of play.
"Look here," said Scantlebray. "You are in the military, I am in the nautical line. Each must address the other by some title in accordance with the profession each professes, and the forfeit of failure is a pull at the bottle. What do you say? I will begin. Set the bottle there between us. Now then, Sergeant, they tell me your aunt has come in for a fortune. How much? What is the figure, eh?"
"I don't know," responded Jamie, and was at once caught up with "Forfeit! forfeit!"
"Oh, by Jimminy, there am I, too, in the same box. Take your swig, Commander, and pass to me."
"But what am I to call you? " asked the puzzle-headed boy.
"Mate, or captain, or boatswain, or admiral."
"I can't remember all that."
"Mate will do. Always say mate, whatever you ask or answer. Do you understand, General?"
"Yes."
"Forfeit! forfeit! You should have said 'Yes, mate.'" Mr. Scantlebray put his hands to his sides and laughed. "Oh, Jimminy! there am I again. The instructor as bad as the pupil. I'm a bad fellow as instructor, that I am, Field-Marshal. So your Aunt Di-
