"On my soul, I swear I'll kill every sniffling idiot that doesn't!--In line, there!" he stormed ferociously at a big recruit.
The lively strains of the band and the shouting of the people grew louder and louder in the room where Crailey lay.

His eyes glistened as he heard, and he smiled, not the old smile of the worldly prelate, but merrily, like a child when music is heard.

The room was darkened, save for the light of the one window which fell softly upon his head and breast and upon another fair head close to his, where Fanchon knelt.

In the shadows at one end of the room were Miss Betty and Mrs.Tanberry and Mrs.Bareaud and the white-haired doctor who had said, "Let him have his own way in all he asks." Tom stood alone, close by the head of the couch.
"Hail to the band!" Crailey chuckled, softly.

"How the rogues keep the time! It's 'Rosin the Bow,' all right! Ah, that is as it should be.