eting, until reminded that the former major-general was
now a member of Congress and of the committee on military affairs. Then
it became his duty to overlook the past.

He had not entered Field's little room, even when inspecting hospital
(Flint was forever inspecting something or other)--the doctor's
assurance that, though feeble, his patient was doing quite well, was all
sufficient. He had thought to greet the former Confederate, a sorely
anxious father, with grave and distant civility, as an avowed and
doubtless unregenerate enemy of that sacred flag; but, as has been said,
that was before it was pointed out to him that this was the Honorable M.
C. from the Pelican State, now prominent as a member of the House
Committee on Military Affairs. Motherless and sister-less was the
wounded boy, yet gentle and almost caressing hands had blessed his
pillow and helped to drive fever and delirium to the winds. It was
twelve days after they brought him back to Frayne before the father
could hope to reach him, coming post haste, too; but by that time the
lad was propped on his pillows, weak, sorrowing and sorely troubled,
none the less so because there was no one now to whom he could say
_why_.

The men whom he knew and trusted were all away on campaign, all save the
veteran post surgeon, whom hitherto he had felt he hardly knew at all.
The women whom he had best known and trusted were still present at the
post. Mrs. Ray and Mrs. Blake had been his friends, frank, cordial and
sincere up to the week of his return from Laramie and his sudden and
overwhelming infatuation for Nanette Flower. Then they had seemed to
hold aloof, to greet him only with courtesy, and to eye him with
unspoken reproach. The woman at Fort Frayne to whom he most looked up
was Mrs. Dade, and now Mrs. Dade seemed alienated utterly. She had been
to inquire for him frequently, said his attendant, when he was so racked
with fever. So had others, and they sent him now jellies and similar
delicacies, but came no more in person--just yet at least--but he did
not know the doctor so desired. Field knew that his father, after the
long, long journey from the distant South, was now close at hand,--would
be with him within a few hours, and even with Ray's warm words of praise
still ringing in his ears, the young soldier was looking to that
father's coming almost with distress. It was through God's mercy and
the wisdom of the old surgeon that no word, as yet, had been wh