THE regiment was standing at order arms atthe side of a lane, waiting for the command tomarch, when suddenly the youth rememberedthe little packet enwrapped in a faded yellowenvelope which the loud young soldier with lugu-brious words had intrusted to him. It made himstart. He uttered an exclamation and turnedtoward his comrade.

"Wilson!"

"What?"

His friend, at his side in the ranks, was thought-fully staring down the road. From some causehis expression was at that moment very meek.The youth, regarding him with sidelong glances,felt impelled to change his purpose. "Oh, noth-ing," he said.

His friend turned his head in some surprise,"Why, what was yeh goin' t' say?"

"Oh, nothing," repeated the youth.

He resolved not to deal the little blow. It

148was sufficient that the fact made him glad. Itwas not necessary to knock his friend on the headwith the misguided packet.

He had been possessed of much fear of hisfriend, for he saw how easily questionings couldmake holes in his feelings. Lately, he had as-sured himself that the altered comrade would nottantalize him with a persistent curiosity, but hefelt certain that during the first period of leisurehis friend would ask him to relate his adventuresof the previous day.

He now rejoiced in the possession of a smallweapon with which he could prostrate his com-rade at the first signs of a cross-examination. Hewas master. It would now be he who couldlaugh and shoot the shafts of derision.

The friend had, in a weak hour, spoken withsobs of his own death. He had delivered a mel-ancholy oration previous to his funeral, and haddoubtless in the packet of letters, presented vari-ous keepsakes to relatives. But he had not died,and thus he had delivered himself into the handsof the youth.

The latter felt immensely superior to hisfriend, but he inclined to condescension. Headopted toward him an air of patronizing goodhumor.

His self-pride was now entirely restored. Inthe shade of its flourishing growth he stood withbraced and self-confident legs, and since nothingcould now be discovered he did not shrink froman encounter with the eyes of judges, and allowedno thoughts of his own to keep him from anattitude of manfulness. He had performed hismistakes in the dark, so he was still a man.

Indeed, when he remembered his fortunes ofyesterday, and looked at them from a distance hebegan to see something fine there. He hadlicense to be pompous and veteranlike.

His panting agonies of the past he put out ofhis sight.

In the present, he declared to himself that itwas only the doomed and the damned who roaredwith sincerity at circumstance. Few but theyever did it. A man with a full stomach and therespect of his fellows had no business to scoldabout anything that he might think to be wrongin the ways of the universe, or even with theways of society. Let the unfortunates rail; theothers may play marbles.

He did not give a great deal of thought tothese battles that lay directly before him. It wasnot essential that he should plan his ways inregard to them. He had been taught that manyobligations of a life were easily avoided. Thelessons of yesterday had been that retributionwas a laggard and blind. With these facts beforehim he did not deem it necessary that he shouldbecome feverish over the possibilities of theensuing twenty-four hours. He could leavemuch to chance. Besides, a faith in himself hadsecretly blossomed. There was a little flower ofconfidence growing within him. He was now aman of experience. He had been out among thedragons, he said, and he assured himself that theywere not so hideous as he had imagined them.Also, they were inaccurate; they did not stingwith precision. A stout heart often defied, anddefying, escaped.

And, furthermore, how could they kill himwho was the chosen of gods and doomed togreatness?

He remembered how some of the men hadrun from the battle. As he recalled their terror-struck faces he felt a scorn for them. They hadsurely been more fleet and more wild than wasabsolutely necessary. They were weak mortals.As for himself, he had fled with discretion anddignity.

He was aroused from this reverie by hisfriend, who, having hitched about nervously andblinked at the trees for a time, suddenly coughedin an introductory way, and spoke.

"Fleming!"

"What?"

The friend put his hand up to his mouth andcoughed again. He fidgeted in his jacket.

"Well," he gulped, at last, "I guess yeh mightas well give me back them letters." Dark, prick-ling blood had flushed into his cheeks and brow.

"All right, Wilson," said the youth. Heloosened two buttons of his coat, thrust in hishand, and brought forth the packet. As he ex-tended it to his friend the latter's face was turnedfrom him.

He had been slow in the act of producing thepacket because during it he had been trying toinvent a remarkable comment upon the affair.He could conjure nothing of sufficient point. Hewas compelled to allow his friend to escapeunmolested with his packet. And for this hetook unto himself considerable credit. It was agenerous thing.

His friend at his side seemed suffering greatshame. As he contemplated him, the youth felthis heart grow more strong and stout. He hadnever been compelled to blush in such mannerfor his acts; he was an individual of extraordi-nary virtues.

He reflected, with condescending pity: "Toobad! Too bad! The poor devil, it makes himfeel tough!"

After this incident, and as he reviewed thebattle pictures he had seen, he felt quite com-petent to return home and make the hearts ofthe people glow with stories of war. He couldsee himself in a room of warm tints telling talesto listeners. He could exhibit laurels. Theywere insignificant; still, in a district wherelaurels were infrequent, they might shine.

He saw his gaping audience picturing him asthe central figure in blazing scenes. And heimagined the consternation and the ejaculationsof his mother and the young lady at the seminaryas they drank his recitals. Their vague feminineformula for beloved ones doing brave deeds onthe field of battle without risk of life would bedestroyed.