As they passed, Krool turned towards the house, eyes showing like flames under the khaki trooper’s hat, which added fresh incongruity to the frock-coat and the huge top-boots.

The guard were now returning to their post at the door-way.

“What has happened?” she asked, with a gesture towards the departing Krool.

“A bit o’ lip to Colonel Stafford, ma’am,” answered one of the guard.  “He’s got a tongue like a tanner’s vat, that goozer.  Wants a lump o’ lead in ’is baskit ’e does.”

“’E done a good turn at Hetmeyer’s Kopje,” added the Second.  “If it hadn’t been for ’im the S.A.’s would have had a new Colonel”—­he jerked his head towards the house, from which came the murmur of men’s voices talking earnestly.

“Whatever ’e done it for, it was slim, you can stake a tidy lot on that, ma’am,” interjected the First.  “He’s the bottom o’ the sink, this half-caste Boojer is.”

The Second continued:  “If I ’ad my way ’e’d be put in front at the next push-up, just where the mausers of his pals would get ’im.  ’E’s done a lot o’ bitin’ in ’is time—­let ’im bite the dust now, I sez.  I’m fair sick of treatin’ that lot as if they was square fighters.  Why, ’e’d fire on a nurse or an ambulanche, that tyke would.”

“There’s lots like him in yonder,” urged the First, as a hand was jerked forward towards the hills, “and we’re goin’ to get ’em this time—­goin’ to get ’em on the shovel.  Their schanses and their kranzes and their ant-bear dugouts ain’t goin’ to help them this mop-up.  We’re goin’ to get the tongue in the hole o’ the buckle this time.  It’s over the hills and far away, and the Come-in-Elizas won’t stop us.  When the howitzers with their nice little balls of lyddite physic get opening their bouquets to-morrow—­”

“Who says to-morrow?” demanded the Second.

“I says to-morrow.  I know.  I got ears, and ’im that ’as ears to ’ear let ’im ’ear—­that’s what the Scripture saith.  I was brought up on the off side of a vicarage.”

He laughed eagerly at his own joke, chuckling till his comrade followed up with a sharp challenge.

“I bet you never heard nothin’ but your own bleatin’s—­not about wot the next move is, and w’en it is.”

The First made quick retort.  “Then you lose your bet, for I ’eard Colonel Byng get ‘is orders larst night—­w’en you was sleepin’ at your post, Willy.  By to-morrow this time you’ll see the whole outfit at it.  You’ll see the little billows of white rolling over the hills—­that’s shrapnel.  You’ll hear the rippin’, zippin’, zimmin’ thing in the air wot makes you sick; for you don’t know who it’s goin’ to ’it.  That’s shells.  You’ll hear a thousand blankets being shook—­that’s mausers and others.  You’ll see regiments marching out o’ step, an’ every man on his own, which is not how we started this war, not much.  And where there’s a bit o’ rock, you say, ’Ere’s a friend, and you get behind it like a man.  And w’en there’s nothing to get behind, you get in front, and take your chances, and you get there—­right there, over the trenches, over the bloomin’ Amalakites, over the hills and far away, where they want the relief they’re goin’ to get, or I’m a pansy blossom.”