rprise.

"Yes, Cousin Copeland, you do. But these are officers of the United
States army, and you know Aunt Margaretta's feelings regarding them."

"True," said Cousin Copeland, dropping his arm; "you are right; I had
forgotten. But it is a very sad state of things, my dear--very sad. It
was not so in the old days at Gardiston House: then we should have
invited them to dinner."

"We could not do that," said Gardis thoughtfully, "on account of forks
and spoons; there would not be enough to go--But I would not invite
them anyway," she added, the color rising in her cheeks, and her eyes
flashing. "Are they not our enemies, and the enemies of our country?
Vandals? Despots?"

"Certainly," said Cousin Copeland, escaping from these signs of feminine
disturbance with gentle haste. Long before, he was accustomed to remark
to a bachelor friend that an atmosphere of repose was best adapted to
his constitution and to his work. He therefore now retired to the first
wife of the second cousin of his grandfather, and speedily forgot all
about the camp and the officers. Not so Gardis. Putting on her straw
hat, she went out into the garden to attend to her flowers and work off
her annoyance. Was it annoyance, or excitement merely? She did not know.
But she did know that the grove was full of men and tents, and she could
see several of the blue-coats fishing in the river. "Very well," she
said to herself hotly; "we shall have no dinner, then!" But the river
was not hers, and so she went on clipping the roses, and tying back the
vines all the long bright afternoon, until old Dinah came to call her to
dinner. As she went, the bugle sounded from the grove, and she seemed to
be obeying its summons; instantly she sat down on a bench to wait until
its last echo had died away. "I foresee that I shall hate that bugle,"
she said to herself.

The blue-coats were encamped in the grove three long months. Captain
Newell and the lieutenant, Roger Saxton, made no more visits at
Gardiston House; but, when they passed by and saw the little mistress in
the garden or at the window, they saluted her with formal courtesy. And
the lieutenant looked back; yes, there was no doubt of that--the
lieutenant certainly looked back. Saxton was a handsome youth; tall and
finely formed, he looked well in his uniform, and knew it. Captain
Newell was not so tall--a gray-eyed, quiet young man. "Commonplace,"
said Miss Gardis. The bugle still gave forth its silvery summ