Under the most favorable auspices a military camp entails labor, but to
the volunteers who assembled in Virginia that spring and broke ground
for what afterward became known as Camp Alger, it was a tremendous
undertaking. The hewing of wood and clearing of underbrush which it
entailed was scarcely bargained for by the enlisted man fresh from
civilian life, who, nevertheless, went at it with the energy
characteristic of Uncle Sam's boys the country over, as a result of
which, by the end of May, many of the regiments were as well quartered
as if they were enjoying the customary summer outing at their State
camp-grounds at home. These, of course, were the militia now mustered
into the United States service and awaiting orders to follow the
regulars into Spanish territory.
Troop D of Kenneth Landor's squadron had unquestionably the finest site
on the reservation; a wooded knoll stretching down into a field of
grass--green when the troopers came but worn down to bare earth in the
first month of their encampment. Beneath the shade trees on the hillside
the officers pitched their conical tents, the men stretching out through
the field below in two troop streets, back of which on either side were
picketed their horses.
It was a warm June afternoon, but a little breeze stirred the branches
of the trees and blew with delicious freshness over the knoll, on which,
stretched out at full length, lay Kenneth Landor. It was an off hour in
camp and, barring the sentries who were tramping up and down their
posts, every man was taking advantage of it, some comfortably lounging
like Kenneth on the grass, others laboriously writing home letters
filled with their latest exploit. For they were just back from a three
days' practice march along the Potomac, during which they had spent
their time in fighting the infantry they met on the road and swimming
their horses in the river; and this first bit of mimic warfare could not
fail to be of interest to the home people.
Kenneth had enjoyed the march hugely. He liked action and chafed, as did
all the men, under the monotony of their enforced encampment, although
realizing full well that the troop would be sent to the front as soon as
was deemed expedient. He was thinking, as he lay on his back gazing
skyward, of what he had once heard a veteran say,--that war was largely
made up of soldier housekeeping. That might be true, but he hoped he
should come in for some stiff fighting before he got through. These
interesting speculations so engrossed him that he scarcely noticed the
mail orderly going the rounds until turning suddenly on his elbow he saw
the man coming toward him. This trooper, detailed as mail orderly, was
no other than Charley Bemis, whom we last saw at the Earle-Truxton
wedding, but so strictly was the etiquette of military life maintained
in camp that the man on approaching, saluted his superior officer,
received an acknowledging salute, delivered a letter and turned away
without a word.
The envelope was addressed in Jack's round sprawling hand and Kenneth
prepared himself for a comfortable perusal of the weekly bulletin which
the boy wrote, edited and printed with faithful regularity and which
never failed to be of absorbing interest to the man who received it.
This time, however, there was no printed sheet, but a letter written
apparently at fever heat.
"Dear Lieutenant," (it began, with military terseness), "I'm too upset
to do the paper, though I'll try to soon, but you won't wonder when I
tell you. _They're gone!_ I can't realize it myself and I wish I didn't
have to--it's all so sudden and so lonesome I just want to go off and
die!
"Dr. Ware did it. He and Bridget packed them off before they could say
Jack Robinson. She's gone, too, so has he--down to Wavertree Hall, their
cousin's plantation in Virginia. You see, Miss Julie broke down, though
she wouldn't let any of us say she was ill, and Mrs. Driscoe urged them
to come there and Colonel Driscoe wrote Dr. Ware and sent him the money
to buy their tickets and said he mustn't tell and he should rely upon
him to get them off. Miss Hester told me all that. She laughed, the way
she always does, you know, and said their cousin Driscoe and Dr. Ware
together were too much for them. She said they meant to have a good rest
and get Miss Julie strong and then come back to their work again but
Gee! I wish they didn't have to--it's such a fearful grind.
"It's awful without them, and Peter Snooks gone too! Lieutenant Landor,
what's a guard of honor to do with nothing to guard? There's mother, of
course, and Mr. Landor, but they don't like me bothering around the way
those girls did. They never minded. I've left off my crutches and I'm
digging at my books, but I'm going to be a drummer boy yet, you bet!
"Please send me the latest news from the front. I think it's _great_ to
be a soldier!
"Jack."
"P.S.--Mother says it's a girl's trick to add a postscript, but they're
down there near you somewhere. Wouldn't you love to see them, just! They
went to Dunn Loring the way you did and had to drive a ways into the
country. Thought you'd like to know."
The varied sensations which surged through Kenneth as he finished
reading are difficult to describe. Paramount was the joyful surprise
that Hester was somewhere in the vicinity, followed by the overwhelming
desire to see her without loss of time. This he knew as he came to think
it over quietly, was impossible. He could not take the initiative or
seem to thrust himself upon her uninvited. She, of course, must know
that his troop was still at Camp Alger and if she cared to see him--but
did she care?
That baffling question haunted him a week. Then came one day a note
brought by a small darky who was inclined to ride rough-shod over the
sentries because, as he condescended to explain to them, he had a note
from the young missis to deliver right into the Lieutenant's own hand. A
formal, brief little note Hester had written, but it was enough, for it
told him where they were and that their cousin Mrs. Driscoe would be
most happy to have him ride over and call.
He went that evening, inquiring the way in Dunn Loring and soon found
himself riding up a long avenue between rows of locust trees, at the end
of which he could just distinguish a large brick mansion with a square
portico and broad verandahs at either end. When he drew up at the house
he discovered a small cavalcade ahead of him. At least half a dozen
horses were standing hitched in various parts of the driveway, and
following the custom of the place he tied his own with the rest. Then he
rapped vigorously at the knocker to announce his arrival. By that
general factotum George Washington he was ushered immediately across a
huge square hall and out onto a verandah where a gay group of people
were laughing and chatting together. His first impression was a vivid
effect of blue uniforms and white muslin gowns while from out of this
medley a dignified, matronly figure came forward with his card in her
hand and said in hearty Southern fashion:
"How do you do, Mr. Landor? It is a pleasure to welcome you to Wavertree
Hall. Hester, my dear, here is one of your Radnor friends."
Hester slipped down from the railing where she had been sitting and
shyly gave him her hand. Somehow, for a moment he scarcely knew her with
that strange light in her eyes. Then there was a general interchange of
greetings, for Julie called him over to the hammock where she was half
reclining and Dr. Ware rose up from his seat beside her and nearly shook
the arm off him; and there was dear little Nannie waiting to have him
presented and the Colonel, who laughingly consented to wait his turn,
and all the guests who enviously regarded this brother officer upon
whom, for the moment, all interest centered.
He saw very little of Hester that night. She was the gayest of the gay
and seemed to evade him with the old elusiveness which had been so
marked in the first days of their acquaintance. So he turned for comfort
to Julie, whose convalescence kept her a little apart from the lively
group and whose genuine interest in him seemed to the distracted fellow
almost the sweetest thing in the world.
He rode off rather early, in company with the other officers, whom he
found belonged to a Virginia regiment encamped at Alger, and when the
gay little cavalcade had waved their hands in parting and were lost to
sight Dr. Ware said to Julie:
"There was not a man of them who could compare with Kenneth--he is
superb!"
"Yes," she assented, "he is. I never saw him look so handsome as he does
in his uniform."
The others had strayed into the great hall, and they were alone on the
verandah.
"Julie," he said gently, "you begin to feel more like your old self now,
do you not, dear?"
"Oh! yes," she said, "I feel stronger and stronger every day. But," with
a little laugh, "I am in danger of being spoiled--you all wait on me
so."
"It is a good thing to get that independent young spirit of yours into
subjection," he laughed. "We are all making the most of the
opportunity."
"Do you notice how cousin Nancy has changed?" she asked. "She does not
eye Hester and me so curiously as she did at first. When we came she
scarcely took her eyes off us for days. I think she was prepared to see
freaks and could not readjust her mind to the fact that we looked and
behaved just as usual. To cook for a living and still be a lady was an
anomaly beyond her comprehension, but she is beginning to realize such
things can be, though she wouldn't acknowledge it for the world. Dear
cousin Nancy! She's so good and so contradictory!"
"I shall never forget her kindness in keeping me here," he said
heartily. "Think of my merely meaning to see you safe at Wavertree Hall,
and being taken possession of by her and made one of the family! Her
hospitality is unbounded."
Presently he said: "I have been waiting for you to feel strong enough to
have a little serious talk, Julie. What would you say if you were not to
go back to your work for another year?"
"Oh, we must go back," she said. "Please don't think we'll allow
ourselves to get demoralized or unfitted for work because of all this!"
"I'm not likely to think that, dear, but your cousin Driscoe has had a
long talk with me and he urges me to persuade you all to remain with
them a year, at least. He says now they've got you here they want to
keep you and you'll be all the better fitted to work, he thinks, for a
long rest. He says he has not mentioned this to your cousin Nancy
because he will not have her bothering you to do what you don't want
to--"
"The dear, blessed man," she exclaimed.
"And he didn't want to bother you himself but he thought if I threw the
weight of my influence on his side you might be persuaded. He doesn't
know, does he?" wistfully, "what little influence I really have with you
two independent girls!"
"Oh, don't say that!" she protested; "it isn't fair! And I do not
believe way down deep in your heart you would urge our staying on here
so long. You know too well how hard we have struggled to get started to
advise our letting the work all slip away. Besides, what would you do
without us all that time, I'd like to know," she said playfully. "You'd
be terribly lonesome, you know you would and--oh no," suddenly growing
serious again, "we must go back and take up the work and push on with
it, but it isn't the same--it just can't be without Daddy!" She turned
her face away but not before he had detected the brimming eyes.
"Dear," he said, putting out his arms, "if only you would let me"--he
stopped, pulling himself together with a mighty effort. "I--I--"
"You are so good to me," she faltered, "so good!"
"I'm far from good to let you get excited to-night," he said, struggling
to speak calmly. "You are not strong yet, dear, but I wanted to speak to
you about your cousin Driscoe's proposition before I went away!"
"Away?" she repeated as if scarcely understanding, "must you go away?"
"I think so, dear, in a day or two. Tell me what I can do for you in
Radnor."
"Radnor?" musingly, "how far away that seems! Yes, you can do something
for me there--two things. See Jack and tell him all about us and hunt up
Mr. Renshawe and tell him we've nearly won the day. Hester and I have
been maneuvering in his behalf on all occasions. Tell him Nannie treads
on air and that any day he may expect a little flag of truce, for cousin
Nancy shows signs of surrendering. Will you tell him all that?"
"Julie dear," bending toward her with a world of tenderness in his
voice, "Julie dear, do you never want anything for yourself?"
"Yes," very faintly.
"Can you tell me, little girl?"
"Yes," reaching out her hands with a little childish gesture,--"you."
"Julie!"
He took her in his arms and for a moment there was silence while out in
the moonlit trees a mocking-bird called to its mate.
"My little girl," he said at last tremulously, "is it really true?"
"Oh, how could I do it," she whispered, "how could I!"
"Love me? I am sure I don't know and I scarcely dare believe it. Look at
me, sweetheart and tell me it is true."
She raised her beautiful honest eyes and let him look into the depths of
her pure soul. "It is so natural to love you and so beautiful," she said
simply.
"But I am no longer a young man, dear. What right have I to ask you to
give your young life to me?"
"You didn't ask me," with a little fluttering laugh, "I asked you. It is
very humiliating for you to remind me of it."
"Julie!" He was holding her fast as if he never meant to let her go.
"You are not old," she protested. "It is not years but the spirit that
counts, and you are young--just as I am old for my years, and there is
no one like you but Hester in the world. I have been loving you so long
unconsciously, that I don't know when it began."
"Neither do I, dear."
"But I knew you so well," she continued, "I was afraid you would have
some mistaken sense of honor that would prevent your ever telling me you
loved me and I just couldn't bear that." Julie's head was hidden on his
shoulder.
"You little saint," stroking her hair tenderly, "you always seemed to
belong to me, as if you were a part of my very life, but I have never
felt I was worthy of such a blessing and I have reminded myself a
thousand times this past winter that I could only have one place in your
affections--the old family friend. When Monsieur Grémond came along I
realized more than ever that I had no right to daydreams--that some
other man would claim you and carry you away."
"Did you want me to marry him?" she asked.
"I wanted your happiness above everything."
"Do _you_ never want anything for yourself?" she asked saucily.
"You," was his answer, at which they both laughed with the delicious
sense of their own humor which only lovers know.
Then they had a long quiet talk together about the future, and he told
her how he thanked God she was willing to give herself into his keeping;
how he wanted to flood her life with sunshine and how blessed he should
be if she and Hester would make for him such a home as they had made for
Dad. And they spoke long and tenderly of the man who had been as noble a
friend as a father and who would always be a loved memory to them both.
Then she slipped away from him and leaving him to dream of a reality
that was beyond all imagining, went up to her room in search of Hester.