“Yes, give ’em a few!” grandfather urged when they ought to have remained quiet, as the firing was dying down.  It was not worth while to shoot at a bush, and after all the torrent of lead that they had poured into the bush the Grays had concluded that nothing behind it could remain alive.

Stransky aimed at a head and shoulder on the sky-line, which he took for those of an officer, and was accurate enough to make the head and shoulders duck and to get a swarm of bullets in return.

“Children, why will you waste your country’s ammunition?” said Stransky, firing again.

“That’s the way to talk!” said grandfather approvingly.  “Nothing like a little gayety and ginger in war.”

Now a Brown battery whose fire could be spared from other work dropped a few shells on the knoll and so occupied the attention of the 128th that it had no time to attend to occasional bullets from snipers.

“Think we’re no account!  Shall we charge them now we’ve got the support of the guns?” chuckled Stransky.

“You Hussar, you!” Grandfather gave Stransky a slap on the back.  “With a thousand like you we could charge me whole army, if the general would let us!”

“But he wouldn’t let us,” replied Stransky.  “I could even tell you why.”

With the shadows gathering he slipped back to grandfather’s side, and after it was quite dark he said that it was time for the old Hussar to mount his fiery steed.  Grandfather’s hands slipped from around Stransky’s neck at the first trial; with the next, Stransky took the bony fingers in his grip and held them clasped on his chest with one hand, proceeding as quietly as he could, for he had an idea that the Grays were already moving down from the knoll under cover of night.

“Yes, sir, I’m glad I came!” said grandfather faintly and meanderingly.  “I wasn’t sure about Tom—­all this new-fangled education and these uniforms without any color in ’em.  But I saw him firing away steady as a rock; yes, sir!  I was in it, too, under fire!  It made my heart thump-thump like the old days.  And we’re going to hold ’em—­we’re going to teach the land-sharks—­I’m very happy—­made my heart thump so—­kind of tired me—­”

The old man’s voice died away into silence.  His knees weakened their grip and his legs swung pendulum-like with Stransky’s steps.

“What about me for a sleeping-car!” thought Stransky.  “But he’s certainly harder to carry.”

Yet it pleased Stransky not to waken his passenger until they reached the station his ticket called for.  Entering the cut, he was halted by the challenging cry of “Who goes there?” in his own tongue.

“Stransky of the Reds!” he roared back.  “Stransky, private of the 53d—­Stransky and his bride and grandfather!”

“All right, Bert!” was the answer.  “Hurrah for you!  I’d know your old bull voice out of a thousand.”