of ours—all except H. O., who is my youngest brother. His name is Horace Octavius, and if you want to know why we called him H. O. you had better read 'The Treasure Seekers' and find out. He had gone to tea with the schoolmaster's son—a hateful kid.
'Isn't that the boy you're always fighting?' Dora asked when H. O. said he was going.
'Yes,' said H. O., 'but, then, he keeps rabbits.'
So then we understood and let him go.
Well, the rest of us were gazing fondly on the pigs, and two soldiers came by.
We asked them where they were off to.
They told us to mind our own business, which is not manners, even if you are a soldier on private affairs.
'Oh, all right,' said Oswald, who is the eldest. And he advised the soldiers to keep their hair on. The little they had was cut very short.
'I expect they're scouts or something,' said Dicky; 'it's a field-day, or a sham-fight, or something, as likely as not.'
'Let's go after them and see,' said Oswald, ever prompt in his decidings. So we did.
We ran a bit at first, so as not to let the soldiers have too much of a lead. Their red coats made it
