strikes twelve,
and he goes marching home again. Oh dear me!--it's all very foolish, of
course,--but I love to hear the jingle of his spurs."

"And--have you sat here watching him, every year?"

"Every year!"

"And he has never guessed you were watching him?"

"Good gracious me!--of course not."

"Don't you think, Aunt Priscilla, that you are--just a little--cruel?"

"Cruel--why--what do you mean?"

"I gave him your message, Aunt Priscilla."

"What message?"

"That 'to-night, the peaches were riper than ever they were.'"

"Oh!" said Miss Priscilla, and waited expectantly for Bellew to
continue. But, as he was silent she glanced at him, and seeing him
staring at the moon, she looked at it, also. And after she had gazed for
perhaps half a minute, as Bellew was still silent, she spoke, though in
a very small voice indeed.

"And--what did--he say?"

"Who?" enquired Bellew.

"Why the--the Sergeant, to be sure."

"Well, he gave me to understand that a poor, old soldier with only one
arm left him, must be content to stand aside, always and--hold his
peace, just because he was a poor, maimed, old soldier. Don't you think
that you have been--just a little cruel--all these years, Aunt
Priscilla?"

"Sometimes--one is cruel--only to be--kind!" she answered.

"Aren't the peaches ripe enough, after all, Aunt Priscilla?"

"Over-ripe!" she said bitterly, "Oh--they are over-ripe!"

"Is that all, Aunt Priscilla?"

"No," she answered, "no, there's--this!" and she held up her little
crutch stick.

"Is that all, Aunt Priscilla?"

"Oh!--isn't--that enough?" Bellew rose. "Where are you going--What are
you going to do?" she demanded.

"Wait!" said he, smiling down at her perplexity, and so he turned, and
crossed to a certain corner of the orchard. When he came back he held
out a great, glowing peach towards her.

"You were quite right," he nodded, "it was so ripe that it fell at a
touch."

But, as he spoke, she drew him down beside her in the shadow:

"Hush!" she whispered, "Listen!"

Now as they sat there, very silent,--faint and far-away upon the still
night air, they heard a sound; a silvery, rhythmic sound, it was,--like
the musical clash of fairy cymbals which drew rapidly nearer, and
nearer; and Bellew felt that Miss Priscilla's hand was trembling upon
his arm as she leaned forward, listening with a smile upon her parted
lips, and a light in her eyes that was ineffably tender.

Nearer came the sound,