“Wull we be gettin’ hame to our dinners now?” he inquired gruffly of his neighbour.

“Maybe he’ll tak’ a closer look at us,” suggested an optimist in the rear rank.  “He micht walk doon the line.”

“Walk?  No him!” replied Private M’Slattery.  “He’ll be awa’ hame in the motor.  Hae ony o’ you billies gotten a fag?”

There was a smothered laugh.  The officers of the battalion were standing rigidly at attention in front of A Company.  One of these turned his head sharply.

“No talking in the ranks there!” he said.  “Sergeant, take that man’s name.”

Private M’Slattery, rumbling mutiny, subsided, and devoted his attention to the movements of the Royal motor-car.

Then the miracle happened.

The great car rolled smoothly from the saluting-base, over the undulating turf, and came to a standstill on the extreme right of the line, half a mile away.  There descended a slight figure in khaki.  It was the King—­the King whom Private M’Slattery had never seen.  Another figure followed, and another.

“Herself iss there too!” whinnied an excited Highlander on M’Slattery’s right.  “And the young leddy!  Pless me, they are all for walking town the line on their feet.  And the sun so hot in the sky!  We shall see them close!”

Private M’Slattery gave a contemptuous sniff.

The excited battalion was called to a sense of duty by the voice of authority.  Once more the long lines stood stiff and rigid—­waiting, waiting, for their brief glimpse.  It was a long time coming, for they were posted on the extreme left.

Suddenly a strangled voice was uplifted—­“In God’s name, what for can they no come tae us?  Never heed the others!”

Yet Private M’Slattery was quite unaware that he had spoken.

At last the little procession arrived.  There was a handshake for the Colonel, and a word with two or three of the officers; then a quick scrutiny of the rank and file.  For a moment—­yea, more than a moment—­keen Royal eyes rested upon Private M’Slattery, standing like a graven image, with his great chest straining the buttons of his tunic.

Then a voice said, apparently in M’Slattery’s ear—­

“A magnificent body of men, Colonel.  I congratulate you.”

A minute later M’Slattery was aroused from his trance by the sound of the Colonel’s ringing voice—­

“Highlanders, three cheers for His Majesty the King!”

M’Slattery led the whole Battalion, his glengarry high in the air.

Suddenly his eye fell upon Private Mucklewame, blindly and woodenly yelling himself hoarse.

In three strides M’Slattery was standing face to face with the unconscious criminal.

“Yous low, lousy puddock,” he roared—­“tak’ off your bonnet!” He saved Mucklewame the trouble of complying, and strode back to his place in the ranks.

“Yin mair, chaps,” he shouted—­“for the young leddy!”