ressman, wanted references,--wanted him to pass examination, which
he could not do, because he's only been a little while at school. Harry
wrote a beautiful hand, and had read everything--everything, but he
hated anything like arithmetic as a study, and Cranston had to smile and
tell her that that in itself put West Point out of the question. But,
said he, if he has ambition and ability, why not encourage him to
persevere where he is and win commission from the ranks as many another
boy had done? Bless the mother heart! That, too, had occurred to her,
but they had told her it would take two years at least, whereas Harry
was a born leader, a born commander. That boy could step right out now
and command an army if need be, she said, and no doubt believed it; but
when she wrote to Mr. Cooper about it (and Mr. Cooper it seems was
Colonel Cooper, the boy's commanding officer), that gentleman replied
that while the young soldier had certainly conducted himself in a most
exemplary way and had given promise of being an ornament to the
service,--"He used those very words," said she, producing the colonel's
letter. "See, 'an ornament to the service,'"--still, the colonel could
hardly promise that the boy could rise above the grade of sergeant
inside of two years.

Cranston recognized the handwriting, and took the letter. "I know
Colonel Cooper," he said, "and he means just exactly what he writes.
Mrs. Barnard, I am glad you came. I am glad to take a weight off your
mind. I wish your friends and advisers were here that I might say this
in their presence, especially our good rector, but I say to you with all
my heart, I congratulate you on the step your boy has taken. I honestly
believe he has done better for himself than you could do for him, and I
advise you to let him go and learn campaigning on the frontier. It will
make a man of him if anything will," and he added under his breath, "or
kill him."

"And if you meet my boy, you'll help him? You'll be a friend to him?"
she smiled through her tears. "God bless you for so helping me."

"I'll help him every way I know how," said Cranston.

And so they parted. She infinitely comforted, he oddly impressed. But
Mrs. Barnard felt that fate was still against her and her boy when, four
weeks later, flashed the news of savage battle with the Sioux, of
Captain Cranston shot through the body and fearfully wounded in the
fierce encounter.

CHAPTER II.

Fifty seats in the parque