Crittenden

"Why, isn't that Basil?" she asked in an amazed tone--amazed because

Basil did not speak to her, but grinned silently.

"Why, it is Basil; why--why," and she turned helplessly from private to

officer and back again. "Can't you speak to me, Basil?"

Basil grinned again sheepishly.

"Yes," he said, answering her, but looking straight at his superior, "I

can if the Lieutenant there will let me." Phyllis was indignant.

"Let you!" she said, witheringly; and she turned on the hapless tyrant

at her side.

"Now, don't you go putting on airs, just because you happen to have been

in the Legion a little longer than some people. Of course, I'm going

to speak to my friends. I don't care where they are or what they happen

to be at the time, or who happens to think himself over them."

And she walked up to the helpless sentinel with her hand outstretched,

while the equally helpless Lieutenant got very red indeed, and Basil

shifted his gun to a very unmilitary position and held out his hand.

"Let me see your gun, Basil," she added, and the boy obediently handed

it over to her, while the little Lieutenant turned redder still.

"You go to the guard-house for that, Crittenden," he said, quietly.

"Don't you know you oughtn't to give up your gun to anybody except your

commanding officer?"

"Does he, indeed?" said the girl, just as quietly. "Well, I'll see the

Colonel." And Basil saluted soberly, knowing there was no guard-house

for him that night.

"Anyhow," she added, "I'm the commanding officer here." And then the

gallant lieutenant saluted too.

"You are, indeed," he said; and Phyllis turned to give Basil a parting

smile.

Crittenden followed them to the Colonel's tent, which had a raised floor

and the good cheer of cigar-boxes, and of something under his cot that

looked like a champagne-basket; and he smiled to think of Chaffee's

Spartan-like outfit at Chickamauga. Every now and then a soldier would

come up with a complaint, and the Colonel would attend to him

personally.

It was plain that the old ex-Confederate was the father of the regiment,

and was beloved as such; and Crittenden was again struck with the

contrast it all was to what he had just seen, knowing well, however,

that the chief difference was in the spirit in which regular and

volunteer approached the matter in hand. With one, it was a business

pure and simple, to which he was trained. With the other, it was a lark

at first, but business it soon would be, and a dashing business at that.

There was the same crowd before the tent--Judith, who greeted him with

gracious frankness, but with a humorous light in her eye that set him

again to wondering; and Phyllis and Phyllis's mother, Mrs. Stanton, who

no sooner saw Crittenden than she furtively looked at Judith with a

solicitude that was maternal and significant.