oon after eight until nearly ten the musicians
occupied their sheltered wooden kiosk on the parade, and filled the air
with sweet strains of waltz or song or stirring martial melody.

For an hour, with Elinor Folsom on his arm, young Dean was strolling up
and down the moonlit walk, marveling over the beauty of her dark, yet
winsome face, and Loomis and Jessie, stanch friends already, sauntered
after them. For a time the merry chat went on unbroken. They were
talking of that never-to-be-forgotten visit to the Point--Pappoose's
first--and of the hop to which the tall cadet captain took the timid
schoolgirl, and of her hop card and the distinguished names it bore, as
names ran in the old days of the battalion; of Ray, who danced so
beautifully and rode so well--he was with the --th cavalry now somewhere
along the U. P., said Dean--and of Billings the cadet adjutant; he was
with a light battery in Louisiana. "Where this Captain Newhall is
stationed," interrupted Pappoose, with quick, upward look. "I wonder if
he knows him, Mr. Dean."

"He doesn't like him, I'll venture to say," said Dean, "if Newhall
doesn't suit you and Jessie, and I'm sure I shan't." And then they went
on to talk of the lovely dance music they had at the Point that
summer, and how bewitchingly Elsen used to play that pretty
galop--"Puckwudjies"--the very thing for a moonlit night. One could
almost see the Indian fairies dancing about their tiny fires.

"It was that galop--my first at West Point--that I danced with Cadet
Captain Dean," said Pappoose, looking blithely up into his steadfast
eyes. "You've no idea what a proud girl I was!" They were at the upper
end of the parade at the moment. The kiosk was only fifty yards away,
its band lights sparkling under the canopy, the moonlight glinting on
the smooth surface of the dancing floor that an indulgent post commander
had had placed there. Half a dozen young garrison girls, arm in arm and
by twos, were strolling about its waxen face awaiting the next piece;
and some of them had been importuning the leader, for at the moment,
soft and rippling, sweet and thrilling, quick and witching, the
exquisite opening strains of "Puckwudjies" floated out upon the night.

"Oh, Jess! Listen!" cried Elinor in ecstasy and surprise, as she turned
back with quickly beating heart.

"No, no, indeed!" replied her soldier escort, with a throb in his breast
that echoed and overmastered that in her own. "No time to listen--come