What a wonderful summer was that of Geordie's First Class camp! To begin with, even the graduates had helped shoulder him through the sally-port after the announcement of the new appointments, and then turned out in their civilian dress, with canes and silk umbrellas and all manner of unaccustomed, unmilitary "truck," and cheered him, as for the first time he swung the battalion into column and marched it away to the mess-hall; and the new yearlings sliced up the white belts he wore that day and divided them among their number "for luck," and many an appeal came for the old first-sergeant chevrons; but Pops shook his head at that. They went off by mail far out across the rolling prairies to Fort Reynolds, where, in his letter to mother, a few modest words told of the high honor conferred upon him, and that he "thought it should go to Con." Buddie never waited to hear the end of that letter. He bolted, hatless, out of the house and down the line of officers' quarters to tell McCrea, shouting the tidings to everybody he saw as he ran. And McCrea came over to the doctor's forthwith, and Captain Lane and his charming wife dropped in before the family were half through tea; and the colonel came in later to congratulate Mrs. Graham, and so did many another wife and mother during the evening, and it was a season of joy and gladness not soon to be forgotten, and who shall say what volume of praise and thanksgiving and gratitude went up with the loving woman's prayer when at last she could kneel and pour out her heart all alone. Indeed, it seemed, especially to Buddie, an event of much greater moment to the friends on the frontier than it did to Geordie. His first concern was for Connell. Wright, of course—big, ponderous fellow, moving slowly, as big bodies always do—could not be expected to come at once to congratulate the comrades who had stepped over his head. He was "let down easily," however, and made first lieutenant of the company instead of captain; but he came over to shake hands with Graham and tell him it was "all right," and found that Connell had never left his chum from the moment the battalion was dismissed. Brushing his way through the crowd, the loyal fellow had almost fought a passage to Geordie's side. He could not bear the idea that Graham's triumph should be clouded by fear of Connell's disappointment.

"Why, Pops, honest Injun, I'd hate to leave old D, now that I've got to know them all so well; and I tell you candidly if I expect to land in the Engineers next June I want nothing to interfere with my studies meantime, and first captaincy is a powerful tax on a man's time and thought. But even outside of that, old man, I believe you deserve it more and will honor it more than any fellow in the class."

And with such friends at his back, what young soldier would not feel pride and hope and confidence? Then came the close of the examination, the announcement of class standing; and Geordie had clambered out of the twenties and well up into the teens, standing second in drill regulations (as they are called to-day), third in discipline, well up in drawing, though still in middle sections in the philosophical and chemical courses. Ames was easily head, Benton third, Ross fourth, and Connell fifth. And then came the order to move into camp, and our Geordie found himself, with his second lieutenant for mate, occupying the north end tent of the company officers' row—the tent which, three years before, bucket laden, and with shoulders braced and head erect, he had passed and repassed so many times, never dreaming he should become so thoroughly and easily at home within the white walls, into whose depth it was then profanation to gaze.

Meantime, what of our old acquaintance Benny? All through the months of his sojourn in lovely Nassau the boy had written regularly to the friend of his plebe days, and some of those letters were very characteristic—so much so that Geordie sought to read them to certain of his chums by way of preparing them for Benny's return; but he found all but a very few members of the class utterly intolerant of Frazier. He had "behaved like a cad and a coward," said many of their number, taking their cue from Connell. It was all very well to write and prate about its being the turning-point of his life—starting all wrong—needing all this discipline and distress to set him in the right road. When he had returned and shown by his conduct that there was grit and manliness in him, all right; but the corps never did and never will accept a fellow at his own valuation. He must prove his worth. Benny Frazier might come it over tender-hearted women like Mrs. Doctor Brett and Mrs. Hazzard and Mrs. Other Officials and such dear old dames as Pops himself, but he must "hoe his own row in the corps" was the general saying.

And so even Benny's rush to congratulate Geordie and the impulsive sacrifice of that immaculate tile had softened few hearts. Donning the cadet uniform and silently resuming his place in the ranks of Company B, Frazier strove to ask no favors and resent no coldness. He was not tall enough to join the grenadiers of Company A. There was something pathetic in the big dark eyes as he, a First Class man in years, but a no class man in law, stood irresolute in the company street the day they marched into camp. Yearlings and all had their tents chosen. There was no welcome for him. It was just as well that Mrs. Frazier obeyed her boy's injunctions and kept away until late that summer. For a fortnight or so, until the plebes came into camp, Benny lived all alone. Then, assigned to a tent with Murray and Reed, two cadet privates of the class with whom he had never had dealings and by whom he was treated with cold civility, he made no complaint, nor did he seem to seek their better graces. But Pops never failed to hunt him up if a day went by without Benny's coming to the first captain's tent for a chat. He got Ross to give Frazier a seat at his table in Grant Hall, and would have interceded in other ways, but Frazier himself said no. "I have head enough left to see that I have got to work out my own salvation, Geordie, and you can't make them like me."

And so the humbled fellow kept his own counsel, hearing some pretty hard things occasionally, but saying nothing. The former terror of the plebes in nowise meddled with them now. Mourning for his father was sufficient reason for not attending the hops which, despite his managership, Pops himself very frequently failed to visit. It was lonely work going on guard as the sole representative of an absent class, but Frazier made no remonstrance. There were little points in which he could not overcome the slothful tendencies of his earlier days. He was sometimes late or unprepared, but he took his reports without a murmur and walked post like a man.

The summer wore on. Up with the dawn, out in the sun and the breeze from morn till night, hastening from one brisk martial exercise to another, sometimes in saddle commanding a platoon in the roar and dash of battery drill, sometimes a division in the school of the battalion, sometimes at the great guns of the sea-coast battery, waking the echoes of the Highlands with the thunder of their report and the shriek of the shells towards Target Point, sometimes on the firing-line of the skirmishers, Geordie seemed to broaden with every day, and as first captain he was vigilance itself. "Even in Rand's day you never saw better order or discipline in the hall or in the ranks," said Connell, "and the best of it is, the battalion wants to do as he wishes."

"Coyote & Badger's a close corporation" was yet the saying in the corps, and it was fun to the First Class to hail their senior captains by these Far Western titles. One thing that neither of them would stand, however, was, that any under classman should refer to Geordie as "Pops." That pet name was reserved for the family and very intimate friends.

Connell, to be sure, was one of the gallants of the corps all the summer through, and to Geordie's keen delight his Badger chum seemed to be universally popular in society, and though their tents were at opposite flanks, as were their posts in line of battle, they were seldom far apart when off duty. The two, with Benton, formed what Ames sometimes referred to as the Cadet Triumvirate. Benton made a capital adjutant, and the parades attracted crowds of visitors that, as August evenings grew longer, could hardly be accommodated.

Benny stopped one evening in front of the tent to say that his mother would be up on the morrow. "I have been calling at Dr. Brett's this afternoon, and they expect their relief next week. They've been here four years, you know."

It set Geordie to thinking. Medical officers of the army are seldom if ever kept more than four years at any one station, and his father had now been at Fort Reynolds fully five. Nearly all his professional life had been spent in the Far West. Three or four years he had been shifted about so rapidly and continuously that it was in partial recompense he had been retained so long at this big and pleasant post. "It must be about time for him to be shifted again," thought Geordie, "and now it's bound to be somewhere in the Division of the Atlantic." Odd! not for a whole month had the subject been mentioned in any of his home letters. His father rarely wrote more than a brief note; his mother never less than eight pages; and Bud's productions, curious compositions, were ever a delight to his big brother. But none of these had of late made any reference to change of station. How Geordie wished they might come East and visit the Academy now!

One week later, and the 28th of August was at hand. Camp was crowded, for the noisy furlough-men returned at noon, and were bustling about, making absurd pretence at having forgotten how to get into their "trimmings," and calling for some generous Fourth-hearted Class man to come and aid them. Visitors were swarming all over the post. Hosts of pretty girls had come for the closing hop, and the hotels were crowded to suffocation.

"Your mother promised to 'sit out' three dances with me, Benny," said Pops, as he wound himself into his sash, cadet fashion, as the first drum beat for parade. "Tell her I shall come early to claim them." How he envied the boy his mother's presence! Frazier nodded as he sped away to get into his belts, but with a light in his eyes and a laugh in his heart—very little like the Benny of the year gone by.

"Does Graham make as fine a first captain as we thought he would?" asked a returned furlough sergeant of one of the seniors, as they stood watching him quietly chatting with Benton before the beat of the second drum.

"Tip-top! I don't think there ever was a better one. But from the instant he draws sword in command of that battalion he doesn't know anybody."

Again the long line stretched beyond the flank sentry posts, and last parade in camp went off with the usual snap and spirit in face of hundreds of interested lookers-on. For the last time on that familiar sward the plumed cadet officers of Geordie's class marched to the front and saluted the commander, then scattered to their companies, while the visitors hastened to the waiting vehicles on the surrounding roads. No time could be lost this evening. It was that of the final hop. Ten minutes later, rifles, shakoes, and equipments laid aside, the battalion reformed on the color-line, the officers sprang to their posts, the field-music, still in full parade-dress and white trousers, took station at the left of the long gray line. Geordie whipped the light cadet sword from its scabbard, and his voice, deep and powerful, rang out the commands.

"Continue the march. Companies left wheel, march!"

Drums and fifes burst instantly into the liveliest quickstep. Eight beautiful fronts, each pivoting on its left, accurate and steady as sections of some perfect machine, came swinging around into column. "Forward, march! Guide right!" and then, "Column half right!" as the leading subdivision completed the wheel. And now away they go over the level Plain, heading for the leaf-embowered gap between the chapel and the old Academic, each subdivision led by its lieutenant commanding, Connell, Ross, and Winn marching as field officers on the guiding flank, Geordie commanding all. Group after group of the gayly-dressed visitors opened out to let them through. The sword arms of the young captains brush close to dainty girlish forms those very arms have encircled in the dance, and pretty faces are smiling into the eyes of those swarthy, sunburned young warriors in whom it would be "unmilitary" to show sign of recognition now. The head of the column reaches the cross-road at the foot of the Plain, and, "Column half left!" Geordie's voice rings out across the level and comes echoing back from the gray walls beyond, and the groups of spectators fall farther back—all but one which, escorted by Colonel Hazzard and Dr. Brett, stands at the edge of the road at the pathway just under the beautiful elms. A lady with soft blue eyes is clinging to the colonel's arm and trembling, despite her every effort. Close beside her stands a grizzled, weather-beaten, soldierly-looking man in tweeds, one hand on the shoulder of a ruddy-faced young fellow who is evidently in high excitement. Just back of them Mrs. Frazier, her dark eyes brimming, is resting on the arm of Dr. Brett. Company after company comes up to the wheeling-point and changes direction almost in front of them, and then, his eyes fixed on his leading guide to see that each sergeant in succession gets his trace the instant the wheel is completed, here comes the brawny, blue-eyed first captain. These returning furlough-men are apt to be a trifle careless in marching, and he means to bring them into shape without an instant's delay. He seems to see nothing outside his command, but when within a dozen yards suddenly he catches sight of the uniforms and of his colonel. Instantly, as soldierly etiquette demands, the blue eyes are fixed on the commanding officer; up comes the gleaming blade in the first motion of the salute, and then—-then—what wondrous light is that that all on a sudden flames—transfigures the brave, sun-tanned face? What wild amaze, doubt, certainty, delight, all in a single second, flash into his eyes! What pride and joy! what love and longing! For there, so close that he can almost hear the whisper of his name and feel the spray of the joy-tears that brim in her eyes, stands mother; there stands Buddie, fairly quivering with eagerness; and there stands his father, sturdily striving not to look proud. With every mad longing tugging at his heart and tearing him from his duty to her arms, he as suddenly regains his self-control, lowers his sword in salute, as soldier should, and only quits his grasp upon the hilt and leaps to her side at the colonel's smiling order:

"Fall out, sir; Mr. Connell takes command."

"If that wasn't a low-down trick to play on Coyote, I never heard of one," said Harry Winn that night at supper. "Old Scad never evolved a harder test. Think of parading a fellow's mother at the saluting point when he hadn't seen her for a whole year, just to prove that he's such a soldier he couldn't forget himself even then."

There were lots of boys in gray who believed the whole thing was a "put-up job" to settle a bet among the officers, but they couldn't prove it.

Over the details of that meeting we need not linger. Ordered to assume the duties of surgeon at West Point, Dr. Graham was urged by McCrea and others to give Geordie no warning, but keep it all as a delightful surprise. Neither he nor his gentle wife, however, ever dreamed of its being carried to the point it was. That night when Grant Hall was crowded, and pretty girls in the daintiest of gowns were dancing with cavaliers in gray and white, in blue and gold, or conventional black, when music and merry laughter and glad voices all conspired to banish care, there was one couple in whose faces—one so sweet, so tender, so full of pride in the stalwart son on whose arm she leaned—there shone a radiance that challenged and then was reflected in every eye.

"She makes me think of Ailie in 'Rab and his Friends,'" said Lieutenant Allen, as he and a group of his fellows stood watching them slowly circling the room.

Man after man of Geordie's class came up to be presented by her big boy, whose cup seemed fairly overflowing. While Bud, painfully conscious of the rapidly liquefying state of his first pair of kids, followed his brother with adoration in his eyes, and Mrs. Frazier, still in deep mourning, could not deny herself the delight of peeping in from the arched entrance, where she and Benny stood for half an hour, "just to see how happy Mrs. Graham looked."

Bless the mother heart! How much joy there was for her after the long exile of the frontier and the three years' separation from her first-born. Speedily they were settled in their new home overlooking the bright blue ribbon of the Hudson, winding down between its bold and beautiful shores. From her windows she could see the front of the gray mess-hall, and day after day hear the tramp of the battalion as it came marching down and Geordie's deep voice ringing out the words of command. She used to drop her needle-work and bustle Buddie, all too willing, from his lessons, and trip away to the Cavalry Plain to watch the evolutions at squadron drill and see her boy—no finer horseman among them all—swinging his sabre at the head of the first platoon, or in the wintry days that speedily set in, slashing at the heads in the riding-hall, and with his nimble fellows wrestling, vaulting, leaping high hurdles, and easily accomplishing feats, bare-back or in saddle, that made her often shudder and turn her eyes away. She loved to stroll out under the arching elms to meet him for a few brief minutes between evening drill and parade, and then watch him and Connell putting their splendidly-drilled companies through all manner of evolutions, as they marched them out to the spirited music of the band. She soon learned the ways of the corps, and loved to have a whole squad of the seniors down to tea each Saturday evening, and was sure to secure the presence of such young damsels as lingered about the Point, so as to make it interesting and joyous for his comrades. Perhaps she would have been less venturesome had she been less sure of Pops, but the class declared, "Coyote is spooney over his mother and nobody else." She had dreaded the day that was to take him from her arms to the Point. Now it seemed as though all too soon the day was coming that would take him from the Point, and from her, back to the far frontier he loved so well. The winter fairly flew away. The spring-tide came, and she almost wept the day the ice-gorge went whirling down the Hudson and the whole corps cheered it from the banks above. And the thunder of the guns at the April drills, the volleying of the skirmish-lines in May, were sounds that brought distress to her fond heart, for they told of still another week or month passed by, and only a little space reserved in which, every blessed sun, she could have her big boy at her side.

She went with many another to hear the June examinations. She would not confess it for the world, but if there were only a subject in which Geordie could be declared deficient and turned back to go over the whole year, she would have heard the order without a tear. He had done so well, however, that her friends assured her Geordie would be recommended for the artillery, into which he had no desire, however, to go. She had Mrs. Frazier with her now, and at last Benny seemed to be coming into favor again. He had asked no clemency. He had gone on just as Geordie suggested, and, winning his rank in the 5's of the Second Class, he won what was worth far more—a gradual restoration to confidence in the corps of cadets.

And then McCrea came East on his first long leave, and, mind you, he, an old cadet captain, never lost one point of Geordie's work as commander of Company A. One exquisite evening the long line formed for last parade. Many and many a tear-dimmed eye could be seen among the ladies looking on. The strains of "Auld Lang Syne" were too much for Mrs. Graham; but she hung a little back, and by the time the brave, bright rank of sixty young soldiers came striding to the front to salute the commandant and receive his brief word of congratulation to them as the Graduating Class, she was ready to smile up into Geordie's face as he hastened to seek her first of all, and then, with his comrades, stand uncovered to receive the salute to them as graduates, tendered by the marching companies on their way to barracks. She sat well back among the throng of visitors and dignitaries on the flag-draped platform when, one after another, the class came forward from the throng of gray-coats to receive the long-coveted, hard-earned diploma. She saw Ames, "as head of the school," greeted with ringing applause by the whole battalion as he faced about to rejoin them. She saw gallant Connell, third in rank, and sure, as he hoped, of the Engineers, turn again to his fellows, for the last time, to be followed to his seat by a storm of hand-clapping that told of the faith and honor in which they held him. And then man after man received his diploma, none lacking kind and cordial greeting from the corps, but arousing no such clamor as that evoked by Connell. Numbers twelve and thirteen and fourteen went back, each with his ribboned prize, and then her heart beat hard in the pause that preceded the next name. She knew just where it would come; but how could she dream what would follow? "Graham!" called the secretary, and, plumed hat in hand, her Geordie rose, and with him, as one man, up rose the corps—class-mates and comrades, furlough-men, yearlings, and all. She never heard—I doubt if Geordie could hear—the brief soldierly words of the superintendent in all the tumult that followed. Pops bit his lip and strove to control himself, as he turned at the top step to "face the music" and to meet the eye of every member of his year's command and such a whirlwind of cheers as he had never heard before. Springing down, he strove to regain his old place in their midst; but there was Connell, shouting with the rest, and Benny, stamping and clapping and pounding, and somebody grabbed him on one side and somebody else on the other, and away went his plume, and he threw up his hand waving silence, only to be cheered the louder, for up on the platform were bald-headed members of the Board of Visitors, magnates of the staff, and McCrea and his friends, all applauding, too. For once and at last the corps defied their old first captain, and would not down. Buddie fairly cried with excitement, and the tears, unfettered now, rained down the mother's cheeks. The doctor slipped away from the rear of the platform, and he was found pacing up and down behind the library just as they found him on the river-bank long years before, the evening of the last whipping he had ever given Pops. Geordie looked for him in vain when, a little later, the ceremonies over, he placed his diploma in his mother's hand, and bent and kissed her cheek. "Keep it for me while I go to change my dress," he whispered. "You are the last to say good-bye to the gray. Come close to the first division, so that you may be the first to greet me in cits. And, mother, don't you dare—don't you dare call me lieutenant."

And so, leaving her with McCrea, laughing with a world of gladness, he broke away, his heart too full for further words, his eyes brimming at the thought of all the love and pride and blessing in her face, and up the steps he sprang, halting one instant to wave his hand to her; then into the cool depths of the hall he darted, and we have had our last peep at the gray-clad form of Corporal Pops.

THE END

By ELIZABETH B. CUSTER.

The story is a thrillingly interesting one, charmingly told.... Mrs. Custer gives sketches photographic in their fidelity to fact, and touches them with the brush of the true artist just enough to give them coloring. It is a charming volume.—Boston Traveller.

Mrs. Custer has the faculty of making her reader see and feel with her.... The whole country is indebted to Mrs. Custer for so faithfully depicting phases of a kind of army life now almost passed away.—Boston Advertiser.

The book is crowded with the amusing and exciting details of a life strange indeed to those who have spent their time sitting tranquilly at home. Her observation is so quick, her descriptive powers so picturesque, that the camp and the skirmish seem to live before the reader.—Springfield Republican.

A book of adventure is interesting reading, especially when it is all true, as is the case with "Boots and Saddles." ... Mrs. Custer does not obtrude the fact that sunshine and solace went with her to tent and fort, but it inheres in her narrative none the less, and as a consequence "these simple annals of our daily life," as she calls them, are never dull nor uninteresting.—Evangelist, N. Y.

We have no hesitation is saying that no better or more satisfactory life of General Custer could have been written. Indeed, we may as well speak the thought that is in us, and say plainly that we know of no biographical work anywhere which we count better than this.... It is enriched in every chapter with illustrative anecdotes and incidents, and here and there a little life story of pathetic interest is told as an episode.—N. Y. Commercial Advertiser.

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

R. D. BLACKMORE'S NOVELS.

Told with delicate and delightful art. Its pictures of rural English scenes and characters will woo and solace the reader.... It is charming company in charming surroundings. Its pathos, its humor, and its array of natural incidents are all satisfying. One must feel thankful for so finished and exquisite a story.... Not often do we find a more impressive piece of work.—N. Y. Sun.

His tales, all of them, are pre-eminently meritorious. They are remarkable for their careful elaboration, the conscientious finish of their workmanship, their affluence of striking dramatic and narrative incident, their close observation and general interpretation of nature, their profusion of picturesque description, and their quiet and sustained humor.—Christian Intelligencer, N. Y.

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.

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