The British Army has made half its reputation by mistaking orders--you will understand why, if ever you have the honour to belong to it.

Isabel, get me my drum!" She fetched it from its corner, with the drumsticks; hitched the sling over her beautiful neck; tightened the straps carefully; and began to play a soft tattoo.
The old man leaned back in his chair; felt in his pocket; and having found a silk bandanna handkerchief, unfolded it deliberately, cast it over his head and composed himself to slumber.
The tattoo ran on, peaceful as a brook.

Isabel's arms hung lax and motionless: only her hands stirred, from the wrists, and so slightly, or else so rapidly without effort, that they too scarcely seemed to move.

Her eyes were averted.
My ear could not separate the short taps.

They ran on and on in a murmur as of bees or of leaves rustling together in a wood; grew imperceptibly gentler; and almost imperceptibly ceased.
Isabel glanced at her father, and set the drum back in its corner.
We stole out of the summer-house together, and across to the orchard.
But under the shade of the apple-boughs she turned and faced me.
"Boy, what do you know ?".