“We all know where Major Duncan’s heart is, and that is in Scotland, where a beautiful lady is ready and willing to make him happy, as soon as his own sense of duty shall permit.”

“Ay, hope is ever a far-off thing, Sergeant,” returned the superior, a shade of melancholy passing over his hard Scottish features as he spoke; “and bonnie Scotland is a far-off country.  Well, if we have no heather and oatmeal in this region, we have venison for the killing of it and salmon as plenty as at Berwick-upon-Tweed.  Is it true, Sergeant, that the men complain of having been over-venisoned and over-pigeoned of late?”

“Not for some weeks, Major Duncan, for neither deer nor birds are so plenty at this season as they have been.  They begin to throw their remarks about concerning the salmon, but I trust we shall get through the summer without any serious disturbance on the score of food.  The Scotch in the battalion do, indeed, talk more than is prudent of their want of oatmeal, grumbling occasionally of our wheaten bread.”

“Ah, that is human nature, Sergeant! pure, unadulterated Scotch human nature.  A cake, man, to say the truth, is an agreeable morsel, and I often see the time when I pine for a bite myself.”

“If the feeling gets to be troublesome, Major Duncan, —­in the men, I mean, sir, for I would not think of saying so disrespectful a thing to your honor, —­ but if the men ever pine seriously for their natural food, I would humbly recommend that some oatmeal be imported, or prepared in this country for them, and I think we shall hear no more of it.  A very little would answer for a cure, sir.”

“You are a wag, Sergeant; but hang me if I am sure you are not right.  There may be sweeter things in this world, after all, than oatmeal.  You have a sweet daughter, Dunham, for one.”

“The girl is like her mother, Major Duncan, and will pass inspection,” said the Sergeant proudly.  “Neither was brought up on anything better than good American flour.  The girl will pass inspection, sir.”

“That would she, I’ll answer for it.  Well, I may as well come to the point at once, man, and bring up my reserve into the front of the battle.  Here is Davy Muir, the quartermaster, disposed to make your daughter his wife, and he has just got me to open the matter to you, being fearful of compromising his own dignity; and I may as well add that half the youngsters in the fort toast her, and talk of her from morning till night.”

“She is much honored, sir,” returned the father stiffly; “but I trust the gentlemen will find something more worthy of them to talk about ere long.  I hope to see her the wife of an honest man before many weeks, sir.”

“Yes, Davy is an honest man, and that is more than can be said for all in the quartermaster’s department, I’m thinking, Sergeant,” returned Lundie, with a slight smile.  “Well, then may I tell the Cupid-stricken youth that the matter is as good as settled?”