t suppose a man of Brisbane's blood and brawn could have a girl
as fine as she looks to be."

"Oh, Brisbane has his good points--But come over to the house. Of course
the mob gave no further trouble?"

"Not a bit, only the trouble of keeping them in sight; they rode like
Jehu. I left the chase to Payne--it was what Cooper used to call a
'stern chase and a long chase.' Your quarters aren't so bad," he added,
as they entered the library.

Jennie came in wearing an apron and looking as tasty as a dumpling. "How
do you do, Colonel Maynard?" she cried out, most cordially.

He gave his head a comical flirt on one side. "I beg pardon! Why
Colonel?"

"I've promoted you for the brave deed of this morning."

He recovered himself. "Oh!--oh--yes!--Hah! I had forgotten. You saw me
put 'em to flight? I was a little late, but I gave service, don't you
think?"

"You were wonderful, but I know you're hungry; we're to have dinner
soon--a real dinner, not a lunch."

He looked a little self-conscious. "Well--I--shall be delighted. You
see, I was awake most of the night, and in riding one gets hungry--and,
besides, breakfast was a little hurried. In fact, I don't remember that
I had any."

"Why, you poor thing! I'll hurry it forward. Cheer up," and she whisked
out of the room.

Maynard flecked a little dust from his sleeve and inquired, carelessly:
"Your sister isn't married?"

"No, she sticks to me still. She's a blessed, good girl, and I don't
know what I should do without her."

"You mustn't be selfish," remarked Maynard, reflectively. "But see here,
I must knock off some dust, or I will lose the good impression I made on
the ladies."

"Make yourself at home here and we'll have something to eat soon," said
Curtis at the door.

The dinner was unexpectedly merry. Every one felt like celebrating the
army, and Maynard, as the representative of the cavalry arm, came near
blushing at the praise which floated his way on toasts which were drunk
from a bottle of sherry, a liquor Jennie had smuggled in for cooking
purposes.

"I admit I did it," he rose to say, "but I hold it not meet to have it
so set down."

Parker was extravagantly gay. "I'm going to do a statue of Maynard on
his horse rushing to our rescue," he said. "It will be a tinted piece
like the ancients used to do. That white helmet shall flash like snow.
Sheridan will no longer be the great equestrian."

"Leave off the broad smile," interrupted Lawson. "Captain