rtured with the feeling that
Laura Bentley might not wait long before making her choice of
men in the world. Some other fellow, more enterprising than he,
might-----

"But it wouldn't be fair!" muttered Prescott to himself. "I have
no right to ask her to tie herself for years, and then perhaps
fail myself."

Laura thought her cadet companion appeared a bit absent minded
during the rest of the walk. Who shall know what passes in a
girl's innermost mind? Perhaps she divined what was moving in
his mind.

As they passed by the coast battery, then came up by Battle Monument,
and so to the hotel, they found Greg and Anstey leaning against
the veranda railing, chatting with Belle and Miss Griffin. These
latest arrivals joined the others. Mrs. Bentley at last came
down and joined them.

Thrice, in duty bound, Dick glanced at his watch. The third time
a sigh full of bitterness escaped him.

"This is the meanest minute in my life," he declared. "It is
time to say good-bye, for we must get back to camp and into full-dress
uniform for parade."

"But shall we not see you after parade? asked Laura, looking
up quickly, an odd look flitting over her face.

"No; we are soldiers, and move by schedule," signed Dick. "After
parade there will be other duties, then supper. And you are going
at the end of parade!"

Bravely Prescott faced the farewells, though he knew more of the
wrench than even Laura could have guessed.

"But you will come again in winter?" he murmured in a low voice
to Laura.

"If mother permits," she answered, looking down at her boot tip,
then up again, smiling, into his face.

"Mrs Bentley, you'll bring the girls here again, this winter,
won't you?" appealed Dick.

"If Dr. Bentley and Belle's parents approve, I'll try to," answered
the matron.

Then came the leave-takings, brief and open. With a final lifting
of their caps Dick and the others turned and strode down the path.
Laura and Belle gazed after them until the young men had disappeared
into the encampment.

But you may be sure the girls were over on the parade ground by
the time that the good old gray battalion had turned out and marched
over, forming in battalion front.

It was a beautiful sight. Mrs. Bentley wasn't martial, but as
she looked on at that straight, inflexible wall of gray and steel,
as the band played the colors up to the right of line, the good
matron was thinking to herself:

"What a pity that the country ha