Under the most favorable auspices a military camp entails labor, but to the volunteers who assembled in Virginia that spring and broke ground for what afterward became known as Camp Alger, it was a tremendous undertaking. The hewing of wood and clearing of underbrush which it entailed was scarcely bargained for by the enlisted man fresh from civilian life, who, nevertheless, went at it with the energy characteristic of Uncle Sam’s boys the country over, as a result of which, by the end of May, many of the regiments were as well quartered as if they were enjoying the customary summer outing at their State camp-grounds at home. These, of course, were the militia now mustered into the United States service and awaiting orders to follow the regulars into Spanish territory.

Troop D of Kenneth Landor’s squadron had unquestionably the finest site on the reservation; a wooded knoll stretching down into a field of grass—green when the troopers came but worn down to bare earth in the first month of their encampment. Beneath the shade trees on the hillside the officers pitched their conical tents, the men stretching out through the field below in two troop streets, back of which on either side were picketed their horses.

It was a warm June afternoon, but a little breeze stirred the branches of the trees and blew with delicious freshness over the knoll, on which, stretched out at full length, lay Kenneth Landor. It was an off hour in camp and, barring the sentries who were tramping up and down their posts, every man was taking advantage of it, some comfortably lounging like Kenneth on the grass, others laboriously writing home letters filled with their latest exploit. For they were just back from a three days’ practice march along the Potomac, during which they had spent their time in fighting the infantry they met on the road and swimming their horses in the river; and this first bit of mimic warfare could not fail to be of interest to the home people.

Kenneth had enjoyed the march hugely. He liked action and chafed, as did all the men, under the monotony of their enforced encampment, although realizing full well that the troop would be sent to the front as soon as was deemed expedient. He was thinking, as he lay on his back gazing skyward, of what he had once heard a veteran say,—that war was largely made up of soldier housekeeping. That might be true, but he hoped he should come in for some stiff fighting before he got through. These interesting speculations so engrossed him that he scarcely noticed the mail orderly going the rounds until turning suddenly on his elbow he saw the man coming toward him. This trooper, detailed as mail orderly, was no other than Charley Bemis, whom we last saw at the Earle-Truxton wedding, but so strictly was the etiquette of military life maintained in camp that the man on approaching, saluted his superior officer, received an acknowledging salute, delivered a letter and turned away without a word.

The envelope was addressed in Jack’s round sprawling hand and Kenneth prepared himself for a comfortable perusal of the weekly bulletin which the boy wrote, edited and printed with faithful regularity and which never failed to be of absorbing interest to the man who received it. This time, however, there was no printed sheet, but a letter written apparently at fever heat.

“Dear Lieutenant,” (it began, with military terseness), “I’m too upset to do the paper, though I’ll try to soon, but you won’t wonder when I tell you. They’re gone! I can’t realize it myself and I wish I didn’t have to—it’s all so sudden and so lonesome I just want to go off and die!

“Dr. Ware did it. He and Bridget packed them off before they could say Jack Robinson. She’s gone, too, so has he—down to Wavertree Hall, their cousin’s plantation in Virginia. You see, Miss Julie broke down, though she wouldn’t let any of us say she was ill, and Mrs. Driscoe urged them to come there and Colonel Driscoe wrote Dr. Ware and sent him the money to buy their tickets and said he mustn’t tell and he should rely upon him to get them off. Miss Hester told me all that. She laughed, the way she always does, you know, and said their cousin Driscoe and Dr. Ware together were too much for them. She said they meant to have a good rest and get Miss Julie strong and then come back to their work again but Gee! I wish they didn’t have to—it’s such a fearful grind.

“It’s awful without them, and Peter Snooks gone too! Lieutenant Landor, what’s a guard of honor to do with nothing to guard? There’s mother, of course, and Mr. Landor, but they don’t like me bothering around the way those girls did. They never minded. I’ve left off my crutches and I’m digging at my books, but I’m going to be a drummer boy yet, you bet!

“Please send me the latest news from the front. I think it’s great to be a soldier!

“Jack.”

“P.S.—Mother says it’s a girl’s trick to add a postscript, but they’re down there near you somewhere. Wouldn’t you love to see them, just! They went to Dunn Loring the way you did and had to drive a ways into the country. Thought you’d like to know.”

The varied sensations which surged through Kenneth as he finished reading are difficult to describe. Paramount was the joyful surprise that Hester was somewhere in the vicinity, followed by the overwhelming desire to see her without loss of time. This he knew as he came to think it over quietly, was impossible. He could not take the initiative or seem to thrust himself upon her uninvited. She, of course, must know that his troop was still at Camp Alger and if she cared to see him—but did she care?

That baffling question haunted him a week. Then came one day a note brought by a small darky who was inclined to ride rough-shod over the sentries because, as he condescended to explain to them, he had a note from the young missis to deliver right into the Lieutenant’s own hand. A formal, brief little note Hester had written, but it was enough, for it told him where they were and that their cousin Mrs. Driscoe would be most happy to have him ride over and call.

He went that evening, inquiring the way in Dunn Loring and soon found himself riding up a long avenue between rows of locust trees, at the end of which he could just distinguish a large brick mansion with a square portico and broad verandahs at either end. When he drew up at the house he discovered a small cavalcade ahead of him. At least half a dozen horses were standing hitched in various parts of the driveway, and following the custom of the place he tied his own with the rest. Then he rapped vigorously at the knocker to announce his arrival. By that general factotum George Washington he was ushered immediately across a huge square hall and out onto a verandah where a gay group of people were laughing and chatting together. His first impression was a vivid effect of blue uniforms and white muslin gowns while from out of this medley a dignified, matronly figure came forward with his card in her hand and said in hearty Southern fashion:

“How do you do, Mr. Landor? It is a pleasure to welcome you to Wavertree Hall. Hester, my dear, here is one of your Radnor friends.”

Hester slipped down from the railing where she had been sitting and shyly gave him her hand. Somehow, for a moment he scarcely knew her with that strange light in her eyes. Then there was a general interchange of greetings, for Julie called him over to the hammock where she was half reclining and Dr. Ware rose up from his seat beside her and nearly shook the arm off him; and there was dear little Nannie waiting to have him presented and the Colonel, who laughingly consented to wait his turn, and all the guests who enviously regarded this brother officer upon whom, for the moment, all interest centered.

He saw very little of Hester that night. She was the gayest of the gay and seemed to evade him with the old elusiveness which had been so marked in the first days of their acquaintance. So he turned for comfort to Julie, whose convalescence kept her a little apart from the lively group and whose genuine interest in him seemed to the distracted fellow almost the sweetest thing in the world.

He rode off rather early, in company with the other officers, whom he found belonged to a Virginia regiment encamped at Alger, and when the gay little cavalcade had waved their hands in parting and were lost to sight Dr. Ware said to Julie:

“There was not a man of them who could compare with Kenneth—he is superb!”

“Yes,” she assented, “he is. I never saw him look so handsome as he does in his uniform.”

The others had strayed into the great hall, and they were alone on the verandah.

“Julie,” he said gently, “you begin to feel more like your old self now, do you not, dear?”

“Oh! yes,” she said, “I feel stronger and stronger every day. But,” with a little laugh, “I am in danger of being spoiled—you all wait on me so.”

“It is a good thing to get that independent young spirit of yours into subjection,” he laughed. “We are all making the most of the opportunity.”

“Do you notice how cousin Nancy has changed?” she asked. “She does not eye Hester and me so curiously as she did at first. When we came she scarcely took her eyes off us for days. I think she was prepared to see freaks and could not readjust her mind to the fact that we looked and behaved just as usual. To cook for a living and still be a lady was an anomaly beyond her comprehension, but she is beginning to realize such things can be, though she wouldn’t acknowledge it for the world. Dear cousin Nancy! She’s so good and so contradictory!”

“I shall never forget her kindness in keeping me here,” he said heartily. “Think of my merely meaning to see you safe at Wavertree Hall, and being taken possession of by her and made one of the family! Her hospitality is unbounded.”

Presently he said: “I have been waiting for you to feel strong enough to have a little serious talk, Julie. What would you say if you were not to go back to your work for another year?”

“Oh, we must go back,” she said. “Please don’t think we’ll allow ourselves to get demoralized or unfitted for work because of all this!”

“I’m not likely to think that, dear, but your cousin Driscoe has had a long talk with me and he urges me to persuade you all to remain with them a year, at least. He says now they’ve got you here they want to keep you and you’ll be all the better fitted to work, he thinks, for a long rest. He says he has not mentioned this to your cousin Nancy because he will not have her bothering you to do what you don’t want to—”

“The dear, blessed man,” she exclaimed.

“And he didn’t want to bother you himself but he thought if I threw the weight of my influence on his side you might be persuaded. He doesn’t know, does he?” wistfully, “what little influence I really have with you two independent girls!”

“Oh, don’t say that!” she protested; “it isn’t fair! And I do not believe way down deep in your heart you would urge our staying on here so long. You know too well how hard we have struggled to get started to advise our letting the work all slip away. Besides, what would you do without us all that time, I’d like to know,” she said playfully. “You’d be terribly lonesome, you know you would and—oh no,” suddenly growing serious again, “we must go back and take up the work and push on with it, but it isn’t the same—it just can’t be without Daddy!” She turned her face away but not before he had detected the brimming eyes.

“Dear,” he said, putting out his arms, “if only you would let me”—he stopped, pulling himself together with a mighty effort. “I—I—”

“You are so good to me,” she faltered, “so good!”

“I’m far from good to let you get excited to-night,” he said, struggling to speak calmly. “You are not strong yet, dear, but I wanted to speak to you about your cousin Driscoe’s proposition before I went away!”

“Away?” she repeated as if scarcely understanding, “must you go away?”

“I think so, dear, in a day or two. Tell me what I can do for you in Radnor.”

“Radnor?” musingly, “how far away that seems! Yes, you can do something for me there—two things. See Jack and tell him all about us and hunt up Mr. Renshawe and tell him we’ve nearly won the day. Hester and I have been maneuvering in his behalf on all occasions. Tell him Nannie treads on air and that any day he may expect a little flag of truce, for cousin Nancy shows signs of surrendering. Will you tell him all that?”

“Julie dear,” bending toward her with a world of tenderness in his voice, “Julie dear, do you never want anything for yourself?”

“Yes,” very faintly.

“Can you tell me, little girl?”

“Yes,” reaching out her hands with a little childish gesture,—“you.”

“Julie!”

He took her in his arms and for a moment there was silence while out in the moonlit trees a mocking-bird called to its mate.

“My little girl,” he said at last tremulously, “is it really true?”

“Oh, how could I do it,” she whispered, “how could I!”

“Love me? I am sure I don’t know and I scarcely dare believe it. Look at me, sweetheart and tell me it is true.”

She raised her beautiful honest eyes and let him look into the depths of her pure soul. “It is so natural to love you and so beautiful,” she said simply.

“But I am no longer a young man, dear. What right have I to ask you to give your young life to me?”

“You didn’t ask me,” with a little fluttering laugh, “I asked you. It is very humiliating for you to remind me of it.”

“Julie!” He was holding her fast as if he never meant to let her go.

“You are not old,” she protested. “It is not years but the spirit that counts, and you are young—just as I am old for my years, and there is no one like you but Hester in the world. I have been loving you so long unconsciously, that I don’t know when it began.”

“Neither do I, dear.”

“But I knew you so well,” she continued, “I was afraid you would have some mistaken sense of honor that would prevent your ever telling me you loved me and I just couldn’t bear that.” Julie’s head was hidden on his shoulder.

“You little saint,” stroking her hair tenderly, “you always seemed to belong to me, as if you were a part of my very life, but I have never felt I was worthy of such a blessing and I have reminded myself a thousand times this past winter that I could only have one place in your affections—the old family friend. When Monsieur GrÉmond came along I realized more than ever that I had no right to daydreams—that some other man would claim you and carry you away.”

“Did you want me to marry him?” she asked.

“I wanted your happiness above everything.”

“Do you never want anything for yourself?” she asked saucily.

“You,” was his answer, at which they both laughed with the delicious sense of their own humor which only lovers know.

Then they had a long quiet talk together about the future, and he told her how he thanked God she was willing to give herself into his keeping; how he wanted to flood her life with sunshine and how blessed he should be if she and Hester would make for him such a home as they had made for Dad. And they spoke long and tenderly of the man who had been as noble a friend as a father and who would always be a loved memory to them both. Then she slipped away from him and leaving him to dream of a reality that was beyond all imagining, went up to her room in search of Hester.