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"Yes, so called. He wa'n't a lieutenant then, he was a clerk, like you or me."

For my part I privately wished this saint wouldn't rub my uninteresting surname into me every time he spoke. As we dismounted near the tents I leaned against my saddle and asked further concerning the object of his loving anxiety. Was Ned Ferry generous, pleasant, frank?

He said the proxy was a young woman who had a knack of getting passes through the lines, and the three girls exchanged looks as knowing as they were delighted.

"I am but human."

"Who don't belong to Ferry's scouts at all," I still more sweetly added.

"I don't believe you! I don't believe you ever had cause for one!" She laid a hand again upon mine.

"Of course no one has seen this despatch, eh?--Oh!"--a smile--"yes? who?"

Indeed I did. Between young men, to whom the principles of living were still unproved weapons, there was, to my taste, just one sort of talk better than table-talk, and that was saddle-talk; I remembered vividly.

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