It was not till he had heard everything that
Colonel Blythe handed the sergeant-major a bundle of letters and
papers, arrived that morning by the English mail.
"There is good news for you, McKay," said he. "I was so interested in
your description that I had forgotten to tell you. Let me congratulate
you; your name is in the _Gazette_," and the Colonel, taking McKay's
hand, shook it warmly.
McKay carried off his precious bundle to his tent, and, first untying
the newspaper, hunted out the _Gazette_.
There it was--
"The Royal Picts--Sergeant-Major Stanislas Anastasius Wilders McKay to
be Ensign, _vice_ Arrowsmith, killed in action."
They had lost no time; the reward had followed quickly upon the
gallant deed that deserved it. Barely a month had elapsed since the
Alma, yet already he was an officer, bearing the Queen's commission,
which he had won with his own right arm.
His letters were from home--from his darling mother, who, in simple,
loving language, poured forth her joy and pride.
"My dearest, bravest boy," she said, "how nobly you have justified the
choice you made; you were right, and we were wrong in opposing your
earnest wish to follow in your poor father's footsteps--would that he
had lived to see this day! It was his spirit that moved you when, in
spite of us all, of your uncles' protests and my tears, you persisted
in your resolve to enlist.
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