h. You may do something yet the big fellows couldn't do," I
said affectionately.

He was Irish to the bone, and never could entirely master his brogue,
but we had no social caste lines, and Springvale took him at face value,
knowing his worth.

At Marjie's gate I stopped to make sure everything was all right.
Somehow when I knew the Indian was in town I could never feel safe for
her. She hurried out in response to my call.

"I'm so glad to see you to-night, Phil," she said, a little tremulously.
"I wish father were here. Do you think he is safe?"

She was leaning on the gate, looking eagerly into my eyes. The shadows
of the May twilight were deepening around us, and Marjie's white face
looked never so sweet to me as now, in her dependence on my assurance.

"I'm sure Mr. Whately is all right. It is the bad news that gets here
first. I'm so glad our folks weren't at Chancellorsville."

"But they may be in as dreadful a battle soon. Oh, Phil, I'm so--what?
lonesome and afraid to-night. I wish father could come home."

It was not like Marjie, who had been a dear brave girl, always cheering
her dependent mother and hopefully expecting the best. To-night there
swept over me anew that sense of the duty every man owes to the home. It
was an intense feeling then. Later it was branded with fire into my
consciousness. I put one of my big hands over her little white hand on
the gate.

"Marjie," I said gently, "I promised your father I would let no harm
come to you. Don't be afraid, little girl. You can trust me. Until he
comes back I will take care of you."

The twilight was sweet and dewy and still. About the house the shadows
were darkening. I opened the gate, and drawing her hand through my arm,
I went up the walk with her.

"Is that the lilac that is so fragrant?" I caught a faint perfume in the
air.

"Yes," sadly, "what there is of it." And then she laughed a little.
"That miserable O'mie came up here the day after we went to Red Range
and persuaded mother to cut it all down except one straight stick of a
bush. He told her it was dying, and that it needed pruning, and I don't
know what. And you know mother. I was over at the Anderson's, and when I
came home the whole clump was gone. I dreamed the other night that
somebody was hiding in there. It was all dead in the middle. Do you
remember when we played hide-and-seek in there?"

"I never forget anything you do, Marjie," I answered; "but I'm glad the
bushes are t