most remote doubt of it," said Natalie, with a
smile,--"and his name neatly lettered inside it with gilt paint!"

The long, enclosed racks at the ends of the drill-room were open now,
and the electric light winked upon the barrels of the Springfields, as
busy, white-gloved hands plied the polishing cloths along them. The
enormous drill-floor, cleared as if by magic from the disorderly
weed-growth which had encumbered it, began to make manifest its proper
crop--long lines of gray and white, like sprouting sage, at first but a
dot here and there, to indicate the direction, then a scattering, then
distinct clumps, finally a thick, serried row. In the distance, a bugle
sounded, followed by a long ruffle of drums, and Colonel Broadcastle
stepped quickly to the window of the balcony.

"There's the Governor," he said. "Will you come in? I'll send my orderly
to show you to your seats."

At the same moment, the door from the corridor opened, and the orderly
entered, his hand at his shako.

"Sir, the Governor has arrived."

Then, as the trio on the balcony stepped in through the window, he
turned suddenly and superlatively scarlet. As has been said, young
Nisbet was accustomed to getting what he wanted. In this instance what
he had wanted happened to be that the Adjutant should choose him from
the guard detail as Colonel's orderly. To be thus chosen was to be
admittedly the most immaculate of thirty men, all more immaculate than a
thousand immaculate others. The thing was not easy of achievement, but
Dorothy Rathbawne was to be present at the review, and so--there was no
second way about it--it simply had to be done. Young Nisbet's way of
doing it was an absolutely new uniform and gold-plated buttons and
accoutrements. Extravagance? Vanity? Perhaps! But at the present moment,
he was wearing one cross-belt where his thousand and odd comrades were
wearing two. There was no answer to such an argument as that.

Colonel Broadcastle had reserved seats for the party on the temporary
reviewing stand, and, five minutes after they had taken their places,
the bugles sang again, a curt order--"'shun! 'shun!"--ran in varying
intonations from company to company, and the slack gray ranks before
them stiffened into absolute rigidity. Then from the broad hallway
beyond came a tremendous burst of sound, and, to the strains of the
famous old march of the Ninth, the regimental band swung into view,
followed by Governor Abbott and Colonel Broa