“Well, Daisy—­sometimes—­they do.”

“How, Capt.  Drummond?”

“In a variety of ways.”

“Will you please tell me about it?”

He looked up at her.  “Why, Daisy, what makes you curious in the matter?  Have you a friend in the army?”

“No other but you,” said Daisy.

“That is a kind speech.  To reward you for it, I will tell you anything you please.  What is the question, Daisy?”

“I would like to know in what way soldiers have a hard time?”

“Well, Daisy, to begin, with, a soldier can’t do what he has a mind.”

“Not about anything?”

“Well—­no; not unless he gets leave.  I am only at Melbourne now because I have got leave; and I must go when my leave is up.  A soldier does not belong to himself.”

“To whom does he belong?’

“To his commander!  He must go and come, do or not do things, just as his General bids him; and ask no questions.”

“Ask no questions?” said Daisy.

“No; only do what he is ordered.”

“But why mayn’t he ask questions?”

“That isn’t his business.  He has nothing to do with the reason of things; all he has got to do is his duty.  The reason is his General’s duty to look after.”

“But suppose he had a very good General—­then that wouldn’t be much of a hardship,” said Daisy.

“Well, that is a very material point,” said the Captain. “Suppose he has a good General—­as you say; that would make a great difference, certainly.”

“Is that all, Capt.  Drummond?”

“Not quite all.”

“What else?”

“Well, Daisy, a soldier, even under a good General, is often ordered to do hard things.”

“What sort of things?”

“What do you think,” said the Captain lolling comfortably on the green bank, “of camping out under the rain-clouds—­with no bed but stones or puddles of mud and wet leaves—­and rain pouring down all night, and hard work all day; and no better accommodations for week in and week out?”

“But Capt.  Drummond!” said Daisy horrified, “I thought soldiers had tents?”

“So they do—­in fine weather—­” said the Captain.  “But just where the hardest work is to do, is where they can’t carry their tents.”

“Couldn’t that be prevented?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I should think they’d get sick?”

“Think they would!  Why they do, Daisy, by hundreds and hundreds.  What then?  A soldier’s life isn’t his own; and if he has to give it up in a hospital instead of on the field, why it’s good for some other fellow.”

So this it was, not to belong to oneself!  Daisy looked on the soldier before her who had run, or would run, such risks, very tenderly; but nevertheless the child was thinking her own thoughts all the while.  The Captain saw both things.

“What is the ‘hard work’ they have to do?” she asked presently.