THE WOULDBEGOODS
near, Dick said, "One, two, three," and we all saluted very well—accept H. O., who chose that minute to trip over a rifle a soldier had left lying about, and was only saved from falling by a man in a cocked hat who caught him deftly by the back of his jacket and stood him up on his legs.
"Let go, can't you," said H. O. "Are you the general?"
Before the Cocked Hat had time to frame a reply, Alice spoke to the colonel. I knew what she meant to say, because she had told me as we threaded our way among the resting soldiery. What she really said was:
"Oh, how can you!"
"How can I what?" said the colonel, rather crossly.
"Why, smoke?" said Alice.
"My good children, if you're an infant Band of Hope, let me recommend you to play in some other back yard," said the Cocked-Hatted Man.
H. O. said, "Band of Hope yourself"—but no one noticed it.
"We're not a Band of Hope," said Noël. "We're British, and the man over there told us you are. And Maidstone's in danger, and the enemy not a mile off, and you stand smoking." Noël was standing crying, himself, or something very like it.
"It's quite true," Alice said.
The colonel said, "Fiddle de dee."
But the Cocked-Hatted Man said, "What was the enemy like?"
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