ay, right here with me. The major and I shall go
to the church with you, see you safely married, bring you and your
Hiawatha home for a cosy little breakfast, put you aboard the boat
for Toronto, and give you both our blessing and our love." And
the major's wife nodded her head with such emphasis that her
quaint English curls bobbed about, setting Lydia off into a fit of
laughter. "That's right, my dear. You just begin to laugh now, and
keep it up for all the days to come. I'll warrant you've had little
of laughter in your young life," she said knowingly. "From what
I've known of your father, he never ordered laughter as a daily
ingredient in his children's food. Then that sweet Elizabeth
leaving you alone, so terribly alone, must have chased the sunshine
far from your little world. But after this," she added brightly,
"it's just going to be love and laughter. And now, my dear, we must
get back the rosy English color in your cheeks, or your young
Hiawatha won't know his little white sweetheart. Run away to my
spare room, girlie. The orderly will get a man to fetch your box.
Then you can change your frock. Leave yesterday behind you forever.
Have a little rest; you look as if you had not slept for a week.
Then join the major and me at dinner, and we'll toast you and your
redskin lover in true garrison style."

And Lydia, with the glorious recuperation of youth, ran joyously
upstairs, smiling and singing like a lark, transformed with the
first unadulterated happiness she had ever felt or known.

PART III.

Upon George Mansion's arrival at the garrison town he had been met
on the wharf by the major, who took him to the hotel, while
hurriedly explaining just why he must not go near Lydia's sister and
the clergyman whom George had expected would perform the marriage
ceremony. "So," continued the major, "you and Lydia are not to be
married at the cathedral after all, but Mrs. Harold and I have
arranged that the ceremony shall take place at little St. Swithin's
Church in the West End. So you'll be there at eleven o'clock, eh,
boy?"

"Yes, major, I'll be there, and before eleven, I'm afraid, I'm so
anxious to take her home. I shall not endeavour to thank you and
Mrs. Harold for what you have done for my homeless girl. I can't
even--"

"Tut, tut, tut!" growled the major. "Haven't done anything. Bless
my soul, Chief, take my word for it, haven't done a thing to be
thanked for. Here's your hotel. Get some coffee to brace