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"Good-day, sir," she said, with forced severity, but as I smiled apologetically and moved my rein, she broke down under new temptation and, as the wagon moved away, twittered after me unseen,--"Good-bye, Mr. Smith."

"Ain't you Major Harper's quartermaster-sergeant?" he asked.

"Good-morning," we said. One of the men was a sergeant. He scanned my animal, and then me, with a dawning smile. "That's a fightin'-cock of a horse you've got, sonny."

"I'm willing," I responded, and we all laughed. The younger horseman asked my name. "Smith," I said, with dignity, and they laughed again, their laugh growing louder when I would not smile.

"Doesn't a good story revive the poetry of our actual lives?" He wiped the rim of his cap with a handkerchief of yellow silk enriched at one corner with needlework.

"My dear madam, you don't realize ours. We don't want to imprison women."

The General looked at me between puffs of his cigar. "I hear you've ridden over fifty miles to-day."

"Yes, the new man is detailed in your place."

"I'm enjoying one advantage," she replied, "which you do not."

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