th you, she remained at West Point until
you had been tried by court-martial and acquitted on that unjust
charge. Laura had a right to know the whole story."

"She surely had," nodded Dick.

"As to Gridley people in general," went on Mrs. Prescott, "I have
not felt it necessary to say anything, and folks generally believe
that Bert Dodge resigned from the corps of cadets simply because
he did not find Army life to his liking."

"He wouldn't have found it to his liking had he chosen not to
resign," smiled Prescott darkly.

"Are you going to say anything about Dodge while you are home?"
inquired his mother, glancing up quickly.

"Not a word, if I can avoid it," replied Dick. "I hate tale-bearers."

At this moment the postman came in, blowing his whistle and rapidly
sorting out a pile of letters, which he dropped on the counter.

"There are probably a lot here for me, mother," smiled Dick. "Shall
I separate then from the business mail?"

"If you will, my boy."

Some dozen of the envelopes proved to be addressed to young Prescott.
Of these two were letters frown West Point classmates. Three
were from old friends in Gridley, sending him congratulations
and expressing the hope of meeting him during his furlough. The
remainder of the letters were mainly invitations of a social nature.

"Odd!" grinned the young soldier. When I was merely a High School
boy I could go a whole month without receiving anything resembling
a social invitation. Now I am receiving them at the rate of a
score a day."

"Well, a West Point cadet is some one socially, is he not?" smiled
Mrs. Prescott.

"I suppose so," nodded Dick. "The truth is, a cadet has so much
social attention paid to him that it is a wonder more of the fellows
are not spoiled."

"Are you going to accept any social invitations while you are home?"
asked his mother.

"That depends," Dick answered. "If invitations come from people
who were glad to see me when I was a High School boy here, then
I shall try to accept. But I don't care much about meeting who
didn't care about meeting me two years ago. Here is a note from
Miss Clara Deane, mother. She trusts that Greg and I can make
it convenient to call at her home next Saturday afternoon, and
meet some of her friends. When I attended Gridley Miss Deane
used to look down on me because I was a poor man's son. I believe
her set referred to me as a 'mucker.' At least, the fellows of
her set did. So I shall