’Fellow-soldiers glorious—­true friends and hospitables.  It was an accident, and deplorable—­most deplorable.’  Here he smiled sweetly all round the mess.  ’But you will think of this little, little thing.  So little, is it not?  The Czar!  Posh!  I slap my fingers—­I snap my fingers at him.  Do I believe in him?  No!  But in us Slav who has done nothing, him I believe.  Seventy—­how much—­millions peoples that have done nothing—­not one thing.  Posh!  Napoleon was an episode.’  He banged a hand on the table.  ’Hear you, old peoples, we have done nothing in the world—­ out here.  All our work is to do; and it shall be done, old peoples.  Get a-way!’ He waved his hand imperiously, and pointed to the man.  ’You see him.  He is not good to see.  He was just one little—­oh, so little—­ accident, that no one remembered.  Now he is that!  So will you be, brother-soldiers so brave—­so will you be.  But you will never come back.  You will all go where he is gone, or’—­he pointed to the great coffin-shadow on the ceiling, and muttering, ’Seventy millions—­get a-way, you old peoples,’ fell asleep.

‘Sweet, and to the point,’ said little Mildred.  ’What’s the use of getting wroth?  Let’s make this poor devil comfortable.’

But that was a matter suddenly and swiftly taken from the loving hands of the White Hussars.  The lieutenant had returned only to go away again three days later, when the wail of the Dead March, and the tramp of the squadrons, told the wondering Station, who saw no gap in the mess-table, that an officer of the regiment had resigned his new-found commission.

And Dirkovitch, bland, supple, and always genial, went away too by a night train.  Little Mildred and another man saw him off, for he was the guest of the mess, and even had he smitten the colonel with the open hand, the law of that mess allowed no relaxation of hospitality.

‘Good-bye, Dirkovitch, and a pleasant journey,’ said little Mildred.

‘Au revoir,’ said the Russian.

‘Indeed!  But we thought you were going home?’

‘Yes, but I will come again.  My dear friends, is that road shut?’ He pointed to where the North Star burned over the Khyber Pass.

’By Jove!  I forgot.  Of course.  Happy to meet you, old man, any time you like.  Got everything you want?  Cheroots, ice, bedding?  That’s all right.  Well, au revoir, Dirkovitch.’

‘Um,’ said the other man, as the tail-lights of the train grew small.  ‘Of—­all—­the—­unmitigated—!’

Little Mildred answered nothing, but watched the North Star and hummed a selection from a recent Simla burlesque that had much delighted the White Hussars.  It ran—­

     I’m sorry for Mister Bluebeard,
     I’m sorry to cause him pain;
     But a terrible spree there’s sure to be
     When he comes back again.

THE HEAD OF THE DISTRICT

There’s a convict more in the Central Jail,
Behind the old mud wall;
There’s a lifter less on the Border trail,
And the Queen’s Peace over all,
Dear boys
The Queen’s Peace over all.