Herbert’s heart began to beat at the double.  He had known that this ordeal might come, but he had hoped against hope that, if he made himself small and meek, he would be overlooked.  All was in vain; his time had come.  “Drill them as a company of two platoons,” said the stern Guardsman.

“Yes, Sir,” said Herbert.  “Shall I—­”

“Take them out at once, Sir.  We have no time to waste.”

It was at this moment that Herbert’s first dream, or I should rather say the first phase of his treble dream, began.  He dreamt that he called the company to attention, caused them to slope arms, and moved them to the right in fours.

So far so good.

Now they were in columns of fours and marching gaily.

“This is a good dream,” thought Herbert.  “I will get them into line.  On the right, form company!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

He had done it.  He had got the rear rank in front, and this is a terrible state of affairs, leading to the most frightful complications—­at any rate in the Lastshire Volunteers.

“Move to the right in fours!” he commanded; and then the trouble began.

In less than half a minute, forty deserving men, including N.C.O.’s, were tied up into a series of terrifically complicated knots, in the midst of which the Company Sergeant-Major bobbed about, an angry cork on a stormy ocean of desperate men.

“Very good, Mr. Herbert, oh, very good indeed,” said the Inspecting Officer.

At this point Herbert passed into his second phase and dreamed that it was all a dream.

But the question remained:  what was he to do?

“Double!” he shouted, and himself gave the example.  And as he ran he passed into his third phase and dreamed it was all true; and he woke up with a start at the orderly room, and found that it was true.

That very evening he resigned his commission, “owing,” as he wrote, “to an incurable habit of getting the rear rank in front.”

What happened to the men I cannot say with certainty.  I think they are still struggling.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Physical Exercise Instructor. “’ERE, YOU!  WHAT THE DEUCE ARE YOU LARFING AT?”

Recruit.  “OH, SERGEANT, I—­I WAS THINKING WHAT PRICELESS BALLY ASSES WE MUST LOOK!”]

* * * * *

MEDITATIONS OF MARCUS O’REILLY.

ON THE DANGER OF POPULARITY.

The Ballybun Binnacle has ceased publication—­I hope temporarily, for I have had to fall back on The Times.  The latter is the better paper for wrapping things in, and they seem to use a good kind of ink which does not come off on the butter, but it’s a bit weak on its advertising side.  It was O’Mullins across the road who pointed this out to me first.  He had, he says, an advertisement a whole week in The Times for a total abstainer to make himself otherwise useful and to mend his stable door; but no apparent notice was taken of it.  The same advertisement had not been a couple of hours in The Binnacle before three tinkers tried to steal his horse.