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"I knew it!" she said delightedly. "But tell me, honor bright,"--she sparkled with amusement--"you're not regularly enlisted, are you?"

"Deserters, I don't doubt!" was my comment to the ladies. Tongue revenge is poor, but it is something.

"No," he said, but Ned Ferry had lately restored to him, by proxy, some lost letters, with an invitation to come and see him.

"Yes," I responded, "and without even waiting for Diana."

Unluckily she retorted with some playful parry that just lacked the saving quality of true resentment. How I rejoined would be small profit to tell. I had a fearful sense of falling; first like a wounded squirrel, dropping in fierce amazement, catching, holding on for a panting moment, then dropping, catching and dropping again, down from the top of the great tree where I had so lately sat scolding all the forest; and then, later, with an appalling passivity. And at every fresh exchange of words, while she laughed and fended, and fended and laughed, along with this passivity came a yet more appalling perversity; a passivity and perversity as of delirium, and as horrid to her as to me, though I little thought so then.

"Sa-ay! I'll wrastle you fo' them-ah clo'es."

Ferry showed pain. "I know; save that for the General. And what else?"

"Thank you," said Ferry; "will you pardon me for passing in front of you?"

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