The winter term had passed rapidly, and again the boys were within ten days of their vacation. The term had been a pleasant one; but in spite of all their good times, Leon was eagerly looking forward to his two weeks at home, for once more Alex was to be with them, and the Arnolds were full of plans for his entertainment, which it had been impossible for them to carry out at Christmas, owing to Leon’s temporary lameness. Every day since Mrs. Arnold’s note of invitation to Alex had come, the boys had added to their program, which had become full and varied enough to satisfy the most difficult of guests, much more Alex, who was ready to enjoy it all, however simple. Dorothy, too, had carried her point, and invitations were already out for a grand party, on the night after Easter, at which, as a crowning happiness, Lieutenant Wilde was to be among the guests, going down from Hilton on the Saturday beforehand, and staying at the Arnolds’, to come up with the boys, three days later. What wonder that even quiet Harry was excited over the brilliant prospect; while at home, pretty Dorothy was planning a wonderful gown of the pale, creamy yellow which Alex had once chanced to say was his favorite color.

“It doesn’t seem as if I could wait, Hal!” Leon kept saying. “I almost know something will happen to spoil it all.”

And Harry would ask in reply,—

“But what can happen, Leon?”

Old Flemming was deserted, one afternoon, for the boys had just gone over to a dress-parade in the armory; and they still stood grouped about the door, while they waited for Lieutenant Wilde’s coming, before taking their places. The cadets were all in a state of ill-suppressed excitement, for Captain Curtis, an old class-mate of Lieutenant Wilde at the Point, had suddenly appeared to him, and the boys were to have the honor of parade before a soldier fresh from active service among the Dakota and Montana Indians. None of the cadets had seen the hero who had only reached Hilton that morning; but his fame had gone before him, and the boys, forgetful of his years, were picturing him as a seamed and scarred veteran who would burst upon them in all the panoply of war, and were conscious of a keen sense of enjoyment as they put on their dress uniforms and hurried across to the armory to await his coming.

“Alex says he came east on furlough, after the Sioux pow-wow, last December,” said Leon.

Leon’s sleeve was now decorated with the three stripes and block of his rank, for since he had been able to resume his drill, six weeks before, his mental and physical standing had kept him constantly in the line of promotion, and Corporal Arnold was now Sergeant Arnold, with a fair prospect of rising, so soon as there should be a vacancy in the ranks.

“How jolly! Then he’s seen Sitting Bull and his men. I wish I could get in at West Point, and have a chance for a little fun,” sighed Max enviously.

“Much fun it is!” said Jack. “It’s mostly living in garrison on the plains, for we don’t get an Indian war every day. This man was promoted after the battle at Wounded Knee Creek. He was shot there; but he stayed round in camp, and wouldn’t give up and come home, till the Indians surrendered. He’s been at home ever since, getting patched up again, and now he’s stopped over a day with Lieutenant Wilde, on his way back to his company.”

“After all, it must be fun to be out there. I should think it would make Lieutenant Wilde crazy to go,” said Louis, whose ideas of frontier army life were largely derived from Captain King’s novels.

“Not much!” returned Jack scornfully. “I’d rather be a first-class cowboy, myself. But here they come.” And the cadets scurried into position and saluted, as Alex came into the armory, followed by Lieutenant Wilde and a stranger.

At the first glance, the boys were a little disappointed in the appearance of this yellow-haired, blue-eyed young officer, who looked so like a boy, in his citizen’s dress; but there was something in his soldierly carriage, in the firm lines about his lips which made them realize that they stood in the presence of one accustomed to command, while a long scar on his right cheek bore witness to his having seen service, outside of the more ornamental duties of garrison life.

As the companies formed for inspection, the stranger walked slowly across the floor and took up a position where he could watch the cadets when, at adjutant’s call, they fell into line. Then, while the music sounded off and the adjutant received the reports, he closely scanned the faces before him, now and then giving a quick nod of approval at some well-executed detail of the drill. As the sergeants returned to position, Alex faced about, saluted Lieutenant Wilde and reported the absentees. The lieutenant acknowledged the salute and added, according to the usual form,—

“Publish the orders, sir!”

Again Alex faced about to the battalion commanding,—

“Attention to Orders!”

There was no need for the command, for the cadets always looked upon this as the crowning moment of the parade, and waited eagerly to hear the promotions and appointments; while, on this day in particular, they were all on the alert to do credit to themselves and their commanding officer.

Some sudden memory of his own cadet days made the young captain smile to himself, as Alex read:—

“I say, Leon; you’re in luck,” said Harry, seizing his brother’s arm, as they left the armory after parade. “I didn’t suppose you were in for a promotion now, anyway; and then it’s so jolly to get it under the eyes of an army officer, too. I heard him asking Lieutenant Wilde which you were, for he said he met father in Helena, two years ago. He remembered the name, because father knew all about Lieutenant Wilde; and he’s coming to our room this evening to see us.”

“I’m going over now to write to daddy,” said Leon. “I want him to know about this right away, because he was awfully cut up about my row with Winslow, even if he didn’t say much about it.”

“All right,” returned Harry; “I’ll be over by and by, to help get things into shape for the captain.” And he strolled away with Max and Louis, who were greatly elated over their new honors.

True to his promise, Captain Curtis did call upon the Arnolds in their room, that evening; and for half an hour he held the boys in a state of breathless interest, with his stirring tales of frontier life, in camp and in the field. He had been detailed for service here and there in the West until he was familiar with every phase of it, among the Black Hills or in the Alkali deserts, in campaigns against Sioux, Blackfoot or Apache. Two years before, while on a brief furlough, he had met Mr. Arnold at Helena, and some slight favors which the older man had done him, had ripened the short acquaintance into a friendship that made him doubly glad to meet the young cadets. At length he rose, to return to Lieutenant Wilde’s room; but at the door, he turned back to say cordially,—

“Don’t fail to tell your father how well I remember our meeting at The Helena; and say to him that the next time I come to Boston, I shall surely call on him. I’m glad to have the chance to get acquainted with you for his sake, for he is a man whom every one must delight to honor; and I am so much indebted to him that I can only hope the time may come when I can do something either for him or for his sons.”

He paused while he shook hands with Harry; then he turned to Leon, whom he had been studying closely, during the evening.

“Let me congratulate you most heartily on your promotion,” he said. “So far as I can judge by what I have seen to-day, you deserve it, for you’ve the making of a soldier in you. Some day, perhaps, we may meet again in service out on the plains.”

“Oh dear! I wish he meant what he said, and there was any chance of it,” said Leon, as their guests took their departure.

“Why, you wouldn’t really like to go into the army?” And Harry looked at his brother in surprise.

“Wouldn’t I, though!” echoed Leon. “I’d like it better than anything else. I believe I was meant for a fighter; not fisticuffs, like the time I knocked Winslow over, but regular army service. I wonder if daddy would let me do it.” And Leon gave his more peaceful brother a look which was anything but blood-thirsty, as Harry asked again,—

“How would you like it to have to give up college and just go to West Point? Life there isn’t anything but states-prison discipline.”

“Give me a chance to choose, and I’d show you what I’d do. But ’tisn’t so easy to get in at West Point, and I shall never get the chance. I shall most likely end by being a minister, or a lawyer, or something else that’s poky.” And Leon went to his desk, to add a postscript to his letter to his father, telling him of their call from Captain Curtis, and of the captain’s answer to his own unspoken longings.

Three days later, the Wilders had been out for a long walk up to the lake and back. It had been an unusually merry walk, too, for the boys, excited by the near prospect of vacation, were all full of fun; while Max, in particular, had invented a dozen different pranks to amuse and torment the others, until Harry had suggested dropping him into the lake and leaving him there, to meditate upon his sins. An hour before supper, they came trooping home, as hungry and hearty as nine lads could be, all laughing and talking at once. As they separated, to go to their rooms, Alex paused at the stairway window long enough to see the doctor walking hurriedly up the hill, with an open letter in his hand, and his head bowed, as if in deep and painful thought. For a moment, the boy watched him anxiously, for he knew that the doctor rarely came to Old Flemming, and never at this hour in the day, when he was usually preparing for dinner.

“I hope nothing’s wrong,” he said to himself, as he went on. Then he dismissed the matter from his mind, for Stanley Campbell had overtaken him, with a question about the next day’s plans.

Alex would have been still more anxious, could he have seen the doctor enter his nephew’s room, and heard the short, hurried conversation which took place there.

“Do it if you can, Irving,” said the doctor, at length. “You can tell them better than I, for the boys are both so fond of you.”

Irving Wilde rose to do his bidding; but his face was deathly pale, and his knees were trembling beneath his weight. He took off his glasses and wiped them, before he could see clearly. For the first time in his young life, he was to be the bearer of a sad message, and the thought unmanned him. Then he shut his teeth together, mustered all his strength and said briefly,—

“I will. Let me take the letter, please.”

His uncle silently handed it to him; silently he turned away and walked down the hall towards number fifteen. At the door he stopped, with his hand raised, just ready to knock. He could hear the boys laughing inside the room, while he stood there outside, waiting to put an end to all their frolic. He longed to go back to his uncle, to beg him to take his place; but it was too late, he must go on. He rapped desperately.

“Come on in!” shouted Leon’s voice.

Slowly the knob turned and the door swung open, showing Lieutenant Wilde on the threshold. The boys had turned to the door, expecting to see one of their mates, Max perhaps, or Jack, come to continue the fun. At sight of their teacher’s wan white face, Harry sprang forward.

“Lieutenant Wilde!” he exclaimed in alarm. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

With an effort, Lieutenant Wilde rallied.

“No,” he said; “I’m not ill, so don’t be frightened. I only came to bring you a message from the doctor.” And he dropped into a chair, while his fingers closed upon the letter in his hand with a nervous pressure which left the nails white and bloodless. The boys watched him anxiously, sure that something was amiss.

“The doctor has had a letter from your home,” Lieutenant Wilde went on, after a moment, with a vain attempt to assume his usual quiet manner.

Leon’s hand was on his shoulder, and he felt the boy’s fingers grow rigid, as they clutched him.

“Who is it?” he asked abruptly. “Some one is ill, I know.”

Delay was useless, and Lieutenant Wilde answered at once, feeling that it would be cruel to waste words.

“It is your father,” he said gently.

Again the boy’s thought had rushed on in advance of the words.

“He is dead,” he said excitedly.

Irving Wilde could not speak. For his only answer, he rose and put his arm around the boy. He was none too soon for with a cry,—

“Oh, Hal! Oh, daddy, daddy!” Leon reeled where he stood.

With the help of Harry, who until then had remained speechless and dazed, Lieutenant Wilde laid him gently on his bed and sat down by his side, with one hand on his, the other arm around Harry’s shoulders. There was comfort and strength in his touch; but he sat there silent, while the twilight in the room slowly changed to darkness, for he knew only too well that, as yet, no words could comfort the sorrowing hearts before him.

At length Harry raised his head.

“Please tell us,” he said brokenly; “when was it?”

Then Lieutenant Wilde told, as gently and quietly as he could, and pausing, now and then, until the fresh wave of boyish grief had spent itself, and he could go on with his sad story.

There was but little to tell, for in the hurry and confusion of their sudden grief, the letter was short. During the early part of the evening before, Mr. Arnold had seemed to be unusually bright and full of fun. At about nine o’clock, he had gone into the library to write to the boys; and he had been away from the room for more than two hours, before they wondered at his absence. Then Mrs. Arnold went in to speak to him, only to find that he had left them, never to come back to his pleasant earthly home. He sat there, leaning back in his chair, as one fallen asleep, with a quiet smile on his genial face which had so rarely known a frown. Under his hand, still stretched out upon the table before him, was a sheet of paper, on which he had written,—

“My dear boys,—Only a week before you come back to your old daddy again, but Leon’s letter, with its good news of his promotion and of your seeing Captain Curtis, makes me write to you once more. Captain Curtis is a good man, and if either of you could be as true a soldier as he, I would gladly give my consent, though I had never thought of that life for my sons. We were all delighted over the news from Leon; in fact, your daddy is thoroughly proud of both of his boys wh—”

Then the nerveless fingers had relaxed their hold, and the pen had dropped. Mr. Arnold’s last thought on earth had been given to his boys.