But the orderly's voice reminded him of it.

Over there were bearded men and deep voices, and strong hands, guns, and the smell of powder; fife and drum, and canteens and knapsacks; things that he had seen daily in his soldier life.
Was it some call to duty that thrilled him, or only a homesick longing?
As he listened with head up, there came ringing, clear and silvery through the night, the bugle notes from the other camp.

At the first sound Hero was on his feet.

He moved noiselessly toward the tent flap, only partially fastened, and flattening himself against the ground wriggled out.
And if he gave no thought to the little mistress, dreaming inside the tent, if he left without regret the life of ease and loving care to which she had brought him, it was not because he was ungrateful, but because he did not understand.

To him his old life woke and called him in the bugle's blowing.