of them. There were usually some ladies in the
room, dressed in rustling finery like my mother, but not like her in
the face--never so pretty. There were always plenty of gentlemen of the
three degrees, and they used to be very polite to me, and to call me
"little Rosebud," and give me sweetmeats. I liked sweetmeats, and I
liked flattery, but I had an affection stronger than my fancy for
either. I used to look sharply over the assembled men for the face I
wanted, and when I had found it I flew to the arms that were stretched
out for me. They were my father's.

I remember my mother, but I remember my father better still. I did not
see very much of him, but when we were together I think we were both
thoroughly happy. I can recall pretty clearly one very happy holiday we
spent together. My father got some leave, and took us for a short time
to the hills. My clearest memory of his face is as it smiled on me, from
under a broad hat, as we made nosegays for Mamma's vases in our
beautiful garden, where the fuchsias and geraniums were "hardy," and the
sweet-scented verbenas and heliotropes were great bushes, loading the
air with perfume.

I have one remembrance of it almost as distinct--the last.

CHAPTER II.

THE CHOLERA SEASON--MY MOTHER GOES AWAY--MY SIXTH BIRTHDAY.

We were living in a bungalow not far from the barracks at X. when the
cholera came. It was when I was within a few weeks of six years old.
First we heard that it was among the natives, and the matter did not
excite much notice. Then it broke out among the men, and the officers
talked a good deal about it. The next news was of the death of the
Colonel commanding our regiment.

One of my early recollections is of our hearing of this. An ensign of
our regiment (one of the "little ones") called upon my mother in the
evening of the day of the Colonel's death. He was very white, very
nervous, very restless. He brought us the news. The Colonel had been ill
barely thirty-six hours. He had suffered agonies with wonderful
firmness. He was to be buried the next day.

"He never was afraid of cholera," said Mr. Gordon; "he didn't believe it
was infectious; he thought keeping up the men's spirits was everything.
But, you see, it isn't nervousness, after all, that does it."

"It goes a long way, Gordon," said my father. "You're young; you've
never been through one of these seasons. Don't get fanciful, my good
fellow. Come here, and play with Margery."

Mr.