. It was not often that Miss Berkeley's broad
lids found it worth their while to raise themselves for such a wide,
clear look as they allowed with the clasp. And then Nelly broke in:

'Then you two people know each other. Grand! And I've been wondering
these two weeks what to do with you! Why didn't you tell me, Leu?'

'How was I to identify Mr. Moore with 'George's friend from the army'?
Mr. Moore remembers he was on debatable ground last summer.'

Her soft, slow speech fell on his hearing like the silver ripple of
water, clear and fine cut, but without a bit of the New England
incisiveness of tone that filled his delicate Southern ear with slight,
perpetual irritation.

'But I've made my calling and election sure at last. I was transformed
into a mudsill and Northern hireling last spring.'

'In spite of the transformation, I recognized you as soon as you spoke.
I was not quite willing to be forgotten, you see, by any one who wore
the glorifying army cloth.'

They were out on the veranda now. Nelly was gazing with pitiful eyes at
the sleeve fastened away, while the wasted left hand drew forward a
great wicker chair into the circle of the moonlight. He caught the look:

'Not so very bad, Miss Nelly; not off, you see, only useless for the
present;' and he took a lowly seat at her side, near the princess's
feet.

'You are guiltless of shoulder straps. You might have obtained a
commission, I think. Why didn't you, I wonder,' she said speculatively.

'Because I knew nothing of military matters, for one thing, and hadn't
the assurance to take my first lesson as lieutenant or captain.'

Miss Berkeley's white lids lifted themselves again.

'More nice then wise, sir. Others do it,' was Nelly's comment.

'Yes, but I haven't forgotten the old copy-book instructions, 'Learn to
obey before you command,' and began at the beginning. I've taken the
first step toward the starred shoulder straps'--he wore the corporal's
stripes--' and am hopeful.'

'You'll never attain to them, you lazy Southron. Tell as about your camp
life.'

'There's very little to tell. Drill, smoke, loaf--begging your pardon
for the rough expression of a rough fact--drill again. As one day is, so
is another; they're all alike.'

'Well, tell us about your getting wounded, then, and the fight. George
will not get wounded himself, in spite of my repeated requests to that
effect.'

And so Moore fought his battle over again, in the midst of which Miss