CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
"HOW YOU HAVE GROWED, LADS; HOW YOU HAVE GROWED!" It seems a long time to look forward to, but when it has gone how everyone finds out what a scrap of our lives three years appear to be.
I am going to jump over three years now, and come to an exciting time when we lads were leaving school at midsummer for good.
Those were exciting times, and we all were as much infected as the rest of English folk, for we were at war with France, and there was drumming, and fifing, and enlisting, and men marching off to join their regiments, and we boys were fully determined to arrange with our respected fathers as soon as we got home to get us all commissions in cavalry regiments, and failing commissions, we meant to petition for leave to enlist to fight for our country.
Bob Chowne and I of course knew better, but in spite of this knowledge we were constantly feeling that there was something wrong with our companion Bigley.
He was just the same easy-going fellow as of old; ready to submit to any amount of bullying and impertinence from us, except in times of emergency, when he would quietly step to the front in the place Bob and I shirked, and do what there was to be done, and as soon as it was over go back patiently into the second rank, leaving us in the front.
But as I say, though we knew better, it always seemed to us as if something particular had taken place in Bigley, he who used to tower above us, a big fellow with whiskers, a deep voice, and broad shoulders, had now shrunk, so that he was no longer like a man and we both like small boys, for he seemed to have come down so that he was only a trifle taller than we were, and very little broader across the chest.

It was the whiskers and the thick down upon his chin which made nearly all the difference.
We used to laugh about it together, and Bigley would say that it was rum, and only because he had started two years sooner than we did--that was all.
Of course the fact was that Bigley had not shrunk in the least.

He had not come down, but Bob Chowne and I had levelled matters by growing up, so that at seventeen we were as big as Devon lads of that age know how to be.
While we had changed, old Teggley Grey had not.

He always seemed to have been the same ever since we could remember, and his horse too, but he shook his head at us.
"Mortal hard work for a horse to carry such big chaps as you.

How you have growed, lads; how you have growed!" I looked at him as he spoke, and it seemed to me that it was he who had changed.