‘Oh, I say!’ murmured a small sceptic from the crowd, ’it was twenty bullets last time; make it fifty, Teddy!’

‘And that’s the story of my button,’ pursued the boy, ignoring with scorn this last remark.

‘And did your father have only one button to his coat?’

The voice was a strange one, and the boys turned round to meet the curious gaze of a sturdy little damsel, who had, unnoticed, joined the group.  She was not dressed as an ordinary village child, but in a little rough serge sailor suit, with a large hat to match, set well back on a quantity of loose dark hair.  A rosy-cheeked square-set little figure she was, and her brown eyes, fringed with long black lashes, looked straight at Teddy with something of defiance and scorn in their glance.

Though at first a little taken aback, Teddy rose to the occasion.

‘One button!’ he said with emphasis; ’the coat was sent to mother with only one button left on; and if you—­’ here he turned upon his questioner with a little fierceness—­’if you had been through such a bloody battle, and killed so many men, you would have burst and lost all your buttons, and not had one left, like father!’

There was a round of applause at this, but the small maiden remained undaunted.

‘Is that a true story you told?’ she demanded, with severity in her tone.

‘Of course it’s true,’ was the indignant shout of all.

‘Then I tell you, boy, I don’t believe a word of it!’ And with set determined lips she turned on her heel and walked away, having sown seeds of anger and resentment in more than one boyish breast.

‘Who is she?’ asked Teddy as, tired and exhausted by his recital, he threw himself on the grass to rest.  One of the bigger boys answered him.

’I seed her come yesterday in a cab from the town to old Sol at the turnpike—­she and her mother, I reckon.  They had two carpet bags and a box and a poll parrot in a cage.  I counted them myself, for I was havin’ a ride behind, and the woman she called Sol “Father,” so the little ’un must be his grandarter!’

’P’raps they’ve come from ‘Mericky,’ suggested a small urchin, capering round on his hands and feet.  ’Polls allays comes over the sea, you know.’

[Illustration:  Teddy tells the story of his father’s heroic death.]

‘She didn’t believe me,’ murmured Teddy, chewing a wisp of grass meditatively.

’Gals is no good, never!  If she’d been a boy you would ’a fought her, but I shouldn’t care for naught like her, Ted.’

Teddy turned his face upwards to the speaker.  ’No, I couldn’t have fought her, Sam, if she’d been a boy.  I’ve promised my mother I won’t fight again till she gives me leave.  You see, I fought four boys in one week last time, and she says she won’t have it.  I don’t see if it is right for soldiers to fight, why it isn’t right for boys!’