"Is there a finer man than me in the regiment?" asked the Highlander,
drawing up his head.

"That there's not," said John Broom, warmly.

"Our sairgent, now," drawled the Scotchman, "wad ye say he was a better
man than me?"

"Nothing like so good," said John Broom, sincerely.

"And what d'ye suppose, man," said the Highlander, firing with sudden
passion, till the light of his clear blue eyes seemed to pierce John
Broom's very soul--"what d'ye suppose has hindered me that I'm not
sairgent, when yon man is? What has keepit me from being an officer,
that had served my country in twa battles when oor quartermaster hadna
enlisted? Wha gets my money? What lost me my stripes? What loses me
decent folks' respect and, waur than that, my ain? What gars a hand that
can grip a broadsword tremble like a woman's? What fills the canteen and
the kirkyard? What robs a man of health and wealth and peace? What
ruins weans and women, and makes mair homes desolate than war? Drink,
man, drink! The deevil of drink!"

It was not till the glare in his eyes had paled that John Broom ventured
to speak. Then he said,--

"Why don't ye give it up, M'Alister?"

The man rose to his full height, and laid his hand heavily on the boy's
shoulder, and his eyes seemed to fade with that pitiful, weary look,
which only such blue eyes show so well, "Because I _canna_" said he;