he can be! I never saw such manners, such ease.
Why, girlie, he's a courtier!"

"Confound the young rogue!" growled the major, in her ear. "I
haven't an officer on my staff that can equal him. You're a lucky
girl. Yes, confound him, I say!"

"Bless you, child," said the clergyman's wife. "I think he'll make
you happy. Be very sure that you make _him_ happy."

And to all these whole-hearted wishes and comments, Lydia replied
with smiles and care-free words. Then came the major, watch in
hand, military precision and promptitude in his very tone.

"Time's up, everybody! There's a bite to eat at the barracks,
then these youngsters must be gone. The boat is due at one
o'clock--time's up."

As the little party drove past the cathedral they observed a huge
crowd outside, waiting for the doors to be opened. Lydia laughed
like a child as George told her of his duplicity of the morning,
when he had misled the inquiring stranger into thinking the Indian
chief was to be married there. The little tale furnished fun for
all at the pretty breakfast in the major's quarters.

"Nice way to begin your wedding morning, young man!" scowled the
major, fiercely. "Starting this great day with a network of
falsehoods."

"Not at all," smiled the Indian. "It was arranged for the
cathedral, and I did attend the ceremony."

"No excuses, you bare-faced scoundrel! I won't listen to them. Here
you are happily married and all those poor would-be sight-seers
sizzling out there in this glaring August sun. I'm ashamed of you!"
But his arm was about George's shoulders, and he was wringing the
dark, slender hand with a genuine good fellowship that was pleasant
to see. "Bless my soul, I love you, boy!" he added, sincerely.
"Love you through and through; and remember, I'm your white father
from this day forth."

"And I am your white mother," said the major's wife, placing her
hands on his shoulders.

For a second the bridegroom's face sobered. Before him flashed a
picture of a little old Indian woman with a broadcloth folded about
her shoulders, a small carven pipe between her lips, a world of
sorrow in her deep eyes--sorrow that he had brought there. He bent
suddenly and kissed Mrs. Harold's fingers with a grave and courtly
deference. "Thank you," he said simply.

But motherlike, she knew that his heart was bleeding. Lydia had
told of his parents' antagonism, of the lost Mansion title. So the
good lady just gave his hand a little extra, unde