a moment, auntie," answers Dorris; and the arm-chair
loses its fair occupant.

Quaint, dainty little Dorris! What would not I--I, your
great-granddaughter, in this degenerate year of 1885--give to see you
just as you looked then, thinking over this and that in a manner not so
very unlike the maidens of this generation! Ah, well! I must perforce
content myself with that miniature of you as "Madam," in your lavender
brocade, with the feathers in your powdered hair, and the row on row of
pearls about your throat. Very stately and dignified you look there; and
yet, Great-grandmother Dorris, I can see the spice of "innate
depravity," as I doubt not your grave pastor would have called it, and
catch a glimpse of the quick temper and warm heart in those bright eyes
and that saucy little nose.

The evening before Capt. L'Estrange's departure has come, and a few of
the many friends he has made during his short furlough spent with the
Gordons are gathered there to make the last hours of his stay such as
shall afford him pleasant recollections in the future. Dorris makes a
charming little hostess as she flits from room to room, and at last
pauses on the porch before a group of three, L'Estrange, Endicott, and
Lieut. Allen, an old friend who is home on sick-leave, who welcome
warmly and admiringly the slight, graceful figure in its white dress,
with a bag of red, white, and blue hanging from her dimpled elbow, a
fancy of Dorris, enhanced by the red and white roses and blue
forget-me-nots in her hair,--flowers which she found on her
spinning-wheel, with no clew to the giver.

"Mon Capitaine Henri, Aunt Dorothy wants you for a moment," she says
now. "They are all enjoying themselves, so I came out here to rest.
Lieut. Allen," she adds graciously, as her cousin disappears, "I am glad
that we are to have one representative of the army left after my cousin
leaves us."

"I thank you, Miss Gordon," answers the young soldier, "but my stay is
limited; you see I hobble around now with the aid of a crutch. I only
wish I could go with your cousin."

"L'Estrange is in your regiment, is he?" asks Endicott.

"Yes, we fought side by side at Saratoga. You know what a close conflict
that was. Such a din of shot and shell that an order could be scarcely
heard in the tumult. It was hot work I can assure you."

Dorris is leaning forward in breathless interest, and as he pauses asks
a characteristic question: "How did you feel then? What were yo