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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

"Yes, madam, between Melpomene and Terpsichore."

when, just as our last note died among the trees one of us cried, "Listen!" and through the stillness there came from far away on our right the last three measures of a bugle sounding The March.

She dropped the rein and lifted both arms toward them. "Oh, blessings on your glorious old heathen hearts, what do you want of Diana, or of any one in heaven or earth except each other!"

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