a black derby that had seen
better days. In her right hand she carried a whip with which now and
then she cut the rank atmosphere in a reckless manner, so that the
dogs slunk aside in affright. Her keen eye pierced everywhere. She
scanned the black register boards nailed above the different
partitions, and studied attentively the tablet on which was marked in
chalk the _ordre du jour_. She came to a full stop behind two horses,
the only ones left behind by the squadron which had gone off for drill
to the parade grounds. Wrathfully she glanced at the poor old beasts,
the bones sticking out of their wrinkled, badly groomed skin like
those of a skeleton. Then she lifted the hind feet of the brown
gelding and examined the hoofs. She drew a small note-book from her
habit, and entered on the dated page: "Remus No. 37. Left hind iron."
Next she climbed the steep wooden stairs leading up to the hayloft.
There they were, the culprits, two men of the stable guard, slumbering
peacefully, and not even awakened by the entrance of the "squadron's
mother." Quick as a flash her whip rained a shower of blows, while she
cried:

"Down with you; attend to your work, you lazy scum! I shall have you
reported to the colonel!"

And they flew down the stairs, and were at the feed-cutter as if the
devil himself were after them. She met Corporal Meyer at the door,
breathless from running, but handing her the parole book. He clapped
his heels together before her so that the spurs jingled.

She pushed the greasy book aside.

"What does the idiot think?" she cried. "Hold it before my eyes while
I read it. Here is an entry that the saddles and bridles are to be
inspected to-morrow. Have your men everything in good shape?"

"I will go and inquire of the sergeant-major."

"Away! Bring him here, but this very moment."

The sergeant-major made a black face when Meyer had delivered his
message, for the hours when the squadron was drilling or practising
were his choicest during the day. He spent them, as a rule, in
domestic bliss, having his cup of coffee before him and the wife of
his bosom in close proximity. He was peacefully enjoying his morning
cigar when Meyer reported to him the desire of the "gracious one."

He cursed his luck, but lost no time in girding his loins with his
sabre; shoved his cap on his bald brow, and went rattling down the
stairs.

The gracious one received him very ungraciously.

"Sergeant-major, is everything in read