sir," said Lawrence, after a moment, "is, that I had
no intention of deserting until I struck the Sergeant and got frightened.
And I've been trying to get back for the last two months. Mr. Broussard
can tell you all about it."

"Mr. Broussard has told me all about it," said the Colonel. "Consider
yourself under arrest until nine o'clock tomorrow morning, when you will
report at the headquarters building. Meanwhile, go to your wife; she is
a million times too good for you."

"I know it, sir," replied Lawrence.

"And my wife is a million times too good for me," added the Colonel,
reflectively.

Lawrence went out and Broussard rose to go.

"You have not asked me to consider this talk as confidential," said the
Colonel, "nevertheless, I shall so consider it. As your Colonel, I
advise and require that you should say nothing about Lawrence's
relationship to you. This much is due your mother's memory."

"Thank you, sir," replied Broussard, a great load lifted from his heart.

Broussard did not wish to go at once to Mrs. Lawrence; she should have
one hour alone with her husband. Nor did he care to go to the officers'
club at that moment. He walked toward the quarters of the
non-commissioned officers, scarcely noticing where his steps led. As he
passed the McGillicuddy quarters, the door opened, and little Ronald ran
out bareheaded. He recognized Broussard, and Broussard, feeling strongly
and strangely the call of the blood, took the boy in his arms and covered
his little face with kisses much to the lad's surprise, and sent him to
the house. The next minute, Broussard came face to face with Sergeant
McGillicuddy.

The Sergeant, who did not often smile in those days, smiled when he saw
Broussard.

"But, Mr. Broussard, you don't look quite fit," said the Sergeant. "The
Philippines, drat 'em, ain't good for the complexion."

"I know I look like the devil," replied Broussard, "but I'm on sick leave
and I hope Fort Blizzard is the right kind of a climate for me. By the
way, the man Lawrence, who deserted in January, has come back. We
travelled from San Francisco together. He has already given himself
up--voluntarily, you know."

In the gloom of the November twilight Broussard could not see the
Sergeant's face clearly. There was a bench close by, on the edge of the
asphalt walk, and the Sergeant dropped rather than sat upon it.

"Excuse me, sir," he said to Broussard, "but the news you give me takes
all