our aunt is not likely
to turn you away."

"But if she did," persisted Madelon, "what should I do? Would
you take me away to live with you?"

"With me?" said Graham, smiling, "I don't think that would
quite do, Madelon; you know I am a soldiers' doctor, and have
to go where they go, and could not have you following the
regiment."

"Then you cannot come and go about as you please," said
Madelon; "I thought you always went where you liked; you are
not with the regiment now."

"No, I have a holiday just now; but that will come to an end
in two or three weeks, and then I must do as I am bid, and go
where I am told."

"And you have no home then? Ah, take me with you, Monsieur
Horace, I should like to see the world--let me go with you."

"Would you like to put on a little red coat, and shoulder a
musket and stand to be shot at?" says Graham, laughing at her.
"I hope to see more of the world than you would quite like, I
fancy, Madelon, that is, if we have any luck and get ordered
out to the Crimea."

For indeed it was just the moment of the Crimean war, and
while the events recorded in this little story were going on,
the world was all astir with the great game in which kingdoms
are staked, and a nation's destinies decided; treaties were
being torn, alliances formed, armies marching, all Europe
arming and standing at arms to prepare for the mighty
struggle, and Graham, like many another young fellow, was
watching anxiously to see whether, in the great tide rolling
eastward, some wave would not reach to where he stood, and
sweep him away to the scene of action.

Madelon had not heard much about the Crimea, and did not very
well know what Horace meant; but she understood the first part
of his speech, and she, too, laughed at this picture of
herself in a little red coat. Presently, however, she recurred
to her original question.

"If you were not marching about, would you let me come and
live with you?" she asked again.

"Indeed, I do not say that I would," said Graham, laughing,
"and I don't mean to settle down for a long time yet; I have
to make my fortune, you know."

"To make your fortune!" cries Madelon, pricking up her ears at
the sound of the words, for indeed they had a most familiar
ring in them; "why, I could do that for you," she added after
a moment's pause.

"Could you?" said Graham absently; he did not follow out her
thought in the least, and, in fact, hardly heard what she
said, for the words