doing some famous rounding up among the late
recalcitrants. The General-in-Chief had given a feast to the incoming
Indians, had shaken hands with their leaders, ordered rations for the
families until the agency could again take them under its wing, had
detailed escorts to conduct them by easy stages to the reservation set
apart for them, but, as punctilious to the keeping of one part of a
promise as to another, he sent forth his scouting parties to look up
those Indians who had not come in, with strict orders to stick to it
until the fate of the Bennett boys was definitely settled, and the
scattered renegades were captured or destroyed. And this was why Mrs.
Stannard was destined to wait still awhile longer for the home-coming
of her beloved captain. This was why, within the week that followed
their mission in quest of ice, three Indian scouts that were still
"casuals" at Almy, set forth eastward, full panoplied for the field,
with little Harris at their head.

"Wouldn't you like to see Harold before you go?" Mrs. Archer had asked
him when he called to say good-by. Her heart had warmed to him, as had
Lilian's, in grateful appreciation of that gift of ice ("though of
course Mr. Harris should know that now, under the circumstances, he
really--well, it wasn't at all a matter to be spoken about, but dear
Mrs. Stannard could see for herself that--it were quite as well that
Mr. Harris got back to his duties"). Both mother and daughter, knowing
well what it must have cost in time and labor, had thanked Harris very
prettily, and fully meant all they said, which kept them from saying
too much. It was but natural that his classmates should do anything for
Harold.

"Would he care to see me?" asked Harris, very quietly.

"Well, he is sleeping just now, and he needs that so much. Lilian
soothes him to sleep when no medicine can. He can't bear to have her
out of his sight."

"Then I think I should not disturb them," said Harris. "He'll be
himself again before we are a week away, and you can say good-by for
me, also to Miss Lilian, will you not?"

It was thus he would have gone, but, as he turned away, compassion
seized the mother's gentle heart, still bleeding--bleeding for her own
beloved boy. After all, how could any young fellow help loving her
Lilian? How could Harris help it? Why should she wish to seek to hold
him aloof? "Come back one minute," she cried, half choking, then
disappeared within.

And so he turned again.