They never came back to see us; and I remember that we were curiously shy of speaking about them, once gone.
From Miss Plinlimmon's window above the eaves I could look over the front wall on to an edge of roadway, a straight dock like a canal-- crowded with shipping--and a fort which fired a gun in the early morning and again at sunset.

And every morning, too, the drums would sound from the hill at our back; and be answered by a soldier, who came steadily down the roadway beside the dock, halted in front of our gates, and blew a call on his bugle.

Other bugle-calls sounded all around us throughout the day and far into our sleep-time: but this was the only performer I ever saw.

He wore a red coat, a high japanned hat, and clean white pantaloons with black gaiters: and I took it for granted that he was always the same soldier.

Yet I had plenty of opportunities for observing him, for Miss Plinlimmon made it a rule that I should stand at the window and continue to gaze out of it while she dressed.
One day she paused in the act of plaiting her hair.