FullReads

Miss Farrar protested warmly.

“Really!” she exclaimed; “I need no one to guard me.”

But the soldier was obdurate. He motioned his comrade down the road.

“Watch at the turn,” he ordered; “he may come back or send some of the Blues to take us. I’ll stay here and protect the lady.”

Again Miss Farrar protested, but the sergeant, in a benign and fatherly manner, smiled approvingly. Seating himself on the grass outside the fence, he leaned his back against the gatepost, apparently settling himself for conversation.

“Now, how long might it have been,” he asked, “before we showed up, that you seen us?”

“I saw you,” Miss Farrar said, “when Mr.–when that bicycle scout was talking to me. I saw the red bands on your hats among the bushes.”

The sergeant appeared interested.

“But why didn’t you let on to him?”

Miss Farrar laughed evasively.

“Maybe because I am from New York, too,” she said. “Perhaps I wanted to see soldiers from my city take a prisoner.”

They were interrupted by the sudden appearance of the smaller soldier. On his rat-like countenance was written deep concern.

“When I got to the turn,” he began, breathlessly, “I couldn’t see him. Where did he go? Did he double back through the woods, or did he have time to ride out of sight before I got there?”

The reappearance of his comrade affected the sergeant strangely. He sprang to his feet, his under jaw protruding truculently, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Get back,” he snarled. “Do what I told you!”

Under his breath he muttered words that, to Miss Farrar, were unintelligible. The little rat-like man nodded, and ran from them down the road. The sergeant made an awkward gesture of apology.

“Excuse me, lady,” he begged, “but it makes me hot when them rookies won’t obey orders. You see,” he ran on glibly, “I’m a reg’lar; served three years in the Philippines, and I can’t get used to not having my men do what I say.”

Miss Farrar nodded, and started toward the house. The sergeant sprang quickly across the road.

“Have you ever been in the Philippines, Miss?” he called. “It’s a great country.”

Miss Farrar halted and shook her head. She was considering how far politeness required of her to entertain unshaven militiamen, who insisted on making sentries of themselves at her front gate.

The sergeant had plunged garrulously into a confusing description of the Far East. He was clasping the pickets of the fence with his hands, and his eyes were fastened on hers. He lacked neither confidence nor vocabulary, and not for an instant did his tongue hesitate or his eyes wander, and yet in his manner there was nothing at which she could take offence. He appeared only amiably vain that he had seen much of the world, and anxious to impress that fact upon another. Miss Farrar was bored, but the man gave her no opportunity to escape. In consequence she was relieved when the noisy approach of an automobile brought him to an abrupt pause. Coming rapidly down the road was a large touring-car, filled with men in khaki. The sergeant gave one glance at it, and leaped across the road, taking cover behind the stone wall. Instantly he raised his head above it and shook his fist at Miss Farrar.

“Don’t tell,” he commanded. “They’re Blues in that car! Don’t tell!” Again he sank from sight.

Miss Farrar now was more than bored, she was annoyed. Why grown men should play at war so seriously she could not understand. It was absurd! She no longer would remain a party to it; and, lest the men in the car might involve her still further, she retreated hastily toward the house. As she opened the door the car halted at the gate, and voices called to her, but she pretended not to hear them, and continued up the stairs. Behind her the car passed noisily on its way.

She mounted the stairs, and crossing a landing moved down a long hall, at the further end of which was her bedroom. The hall was uncarpeted, but the tennis shoes she wore made no sound, nor did the door of her bedroom when she pushed it open.