Mrs.
Davies's tea and preserves and, incidentally, her character with her
blooming daughter, and Barnickel was sociably disposed, and the kitchen
congress was in animated session when at 11.30 P.M. there came a sharp
ring at the bell.

"Bless us! I didn't suppose they'd be home till long after midnight,"
said Katty, as she scurried away. It wasn't the misthress, however; only
Mrs. Darling's maid, to say that Mrs. Davies would not come home; she
would spend the night at Mrs. Darling's, and Letty had come for her
things. This necessitated Mrs. Maloney's remaining all night to further
look after Katty, and what more natural than that they should light Mrs.
Davies's lamp and spend a blissful hour in her simply furnished but
pretty room, looking over the new gowns and garments and jimcracks, and
so absorbed were they in this occupation that they took no heed of time;
and so it happened that the good old chaplain, coming shortly after
midnight over from the hospital, whither he had been summoned to the
bedside of a sorely-stricken trooper, rejoiced to see that Mrs. Davies,
at least, had not gone to the dance, but was keeping wifely vigil in the
sanctity of her own room, praying, probably, for the safety of the loved
young husband now on perilous duty eighty miles away. At the corner, at
the end of the long row of quarters, a solitary figure was standing. The
chaplain recognized the beaver overcoat in the soft moonlight and the
soldierly face under the forage-cap.

"Ah, Cranston! Officer-of-the-day, I see. Just going the rounds?"

"I was,--yes,--but I saw you coming, so waited. How's Hooker?"

"Very low, poor fellow! Typhoid has him in tight grip. He's flighty
to-night. He thinks he's back on the summer campaign again, and his talk
is all of the Antelope Springs affair. Odd! this makes the third man to
come back from Boynton's party, two with typhoid fever and one with the
mail-carrier and a bottle,--Brannan I mean,--and they all talk about
that. From what I have gathered it would seem that Devers blamed Mr.
Davies for the whole tragedy, but the men, when their tongues are
loosened by fever or rum, lay loads of blame elsewhere."

"Yes?" said Cranston, with deep interest, yet reluctant to talk of
regimental scandal with an outsider. "I should like to know what they
say."

"Well, they say McGrath could tell a tale if he were alive, and that
Lutz and the men at the agency believe they were shoved up there because
they had