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Her eyes danced, her brows arched. "Haven't you got"--she hid her smile with an embroidered handkerchief--"haven't you got your second figure upside down?" I glared, but with one look of hurt sisterliness she melted me. Then, pensive just long enough to say, "I was nineteen once," she shot me a sidelong glance so roguish that I was dumb with indignation and tried to find my mustache, forgetting I had shaved it off to stimulate it. She smiled in sweet propitiation and then came gravely to business. "Have you come from beyond the pickets?"

"Well,--yes,--he--he is,--with some."

"To what command do you fellows belong?"

"It's twenty miles off; why are you not with it? What are you doing here?"

"Why, I keep the plain road, don't I?"

"Why did you not fire?"

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