Graham was there as post surgeon and Geordie was preparing for West Point. Indeed, Mr. McCrea had "coached" her son in mathematics, and had been most helpful in securing the appointment. And now here was the quartermaster on leave of absence, the first he had had in years, spending several weeks of his three months' rest at the scene of his own soldier school-days.

But it was "Bud," her younger son, who had come rushing down to the surgeon's quarters only a few minutes before parade with the all-important news. "Mither!—Geordie!" he cried, "Captain Cross says the assignment order's come and will be published at parade. Hurry up!"

Dr. Graham could hardly believe it. As McCrea said, the War Department seldom issued the order before mid-July. "Mac" even hoped to be in Washington in time to say a word to the adjutant-general in Geordie's behalf. It was known that many would be assigned to the artillery, to which Cadet Graham had been recommended by the Academic Board. But all his boyhood had been spent on the frontier; his earliest recollections were of the adobe barracks and sun-dried, sun-cracked, sun-scorched parade of old Camp Sandy in Arizona. He had learned to ride an Indian pony in Wyoming before he was eight; he had learned to shoot in Montana before he was twelve; and he had ridden, hunted, fished, and shot all over the wide West before the happy days that sent him to the great cadet school of the nation. And now that he was graduated, with all his heart and hope and ambition he prayed that he might be commissioned in a cavalry regiment, if possible in McCrea's. Give him that, he said, and he would ask no favor from any man.

How his heart was beating as he watched the adjutant, whom he himself had schooled and drilled and almost made, for Graham had been famous in his cadet days as a most successful squad instructor, a model first sergeant, and a great "first captain." How odd it seemed that he, a graduate, and that all these people, officers, and children, should now be hanging on the words that might fall from the younger soldier's lips! A telegram from Washington had told a veteran general visiting at the Point that his son had been assigned to the artillery, that the order would doubtless be published that evening. But it so happened that not until just before parade did the commandant return from a long ride, and so had no time to read it through. He had simply handed it, with others, to the silent young soldier, who had stood in full uniform full five minutes awaiting his coming. "Better order 'parade rest' part of time. It's a long read," he briefly said, and, stowing the orders under his sash, the adjutant had saluted, faced about, and hastened away.

And now that young official has received the reports of the first sergeants and sent them, high-headed, martial, and precise, back to their stations in the line. And now again he has faced the commanding officer, saluted, and announced, "All are present, sir." And now that deliberate functionary has at last said, "Publish the orders, sir." And silence seems to fall, even upon the chatting groups of girls, as, with brief "'Tentio-o-o-on to Orders," the adjutant drops the point of his sword, letting it dangle from the gold swordknot on his wrist, and in another moment the clear young voice is ringing over the attent and martial audience.

"War Department, Washington, D.C., June 25, 189—," he begins, and then briskly rattles away at the terse official paragraphs: "The following assignment of graduates of the United States Military Academy are hereby announced to take effect from June 14th." It begins with that highly scientific and enviable body, the Corps of Engineers, and Mr. George Graham, up to this moment still officially known as cadet, touches his mother's arm at sound of the third name on the list—that of Connell, his chum, his chosen comrade, his much-loved classmate through the long four years. "Dear old Con," he murmurs into her ears. "I'll telegraph my congratulations to him, whatever comes to me."

There are eight in all assigned to the engineers, and then come the names of those gazetted to the artillery—five famous regiments, too, and Graham notes with joy that Beard, Conway, Foster, and Lawrence, all of whom were lower in general standing than himself, get their longed-for billet with the "red legs," and his name is not mentioned. That means he has not been assigned where he preferred not to go. But would the war secretary assign him where he longed to be? Yes, here it comes, first on the cavalry list, and his heart beats for joy.

And though her eyes are brimming and her lips will quiver, Mrs. Graham clasps both her boy's hands in her own in speechless sympathy. It cannot all be joy, for this means miles and miles of separation that must come all too soon. Geordie can scarce believe his ears. Oh, it is too good! Not only the —th, but "E" Troop, Captain Lane's troop, the troop of which Feeny was first sergeant, the troop in which veteran Sergeant Nolan, two years ago at old Fort Reynolds, had said he and the men so hoped to see the day when Mr. Geordie might come back to them to be their lieutenant.

And now McCrea was grasping and wringing his hand, with a "Welcome to the old regiment, Geordie," and blue-eyed "Bud" was dancing rapturously about until the doctor sternly bade him cease. "Is that the way you think they behave at Columbia, sir?" having never seen the behavior of Columbiads, or other collegians, at a ball match or boat-race or any public occasion of undergraduate rejoicing. Even among the spectators were many who lost interest for the moment in what the adjutant was reading, and watched, with kindling eyes, the unexpected little scene. But when Colonel Hazzard himself, the soldierly commandant, with his silver-gray mustache and hair, came striding through the crowd and held forth his hand to the young soldier, who instantly and instinctively faced him at attention, everybody within hearing noted the cordiality in his hearty tones as he shook Geordie's hand: "Mr. Graham, I'm more than glad you got the regiment of your choice, and you're going to one of the best captains in the army. I was on duty in tactics when Lane was in the Corps. Well, Mrs. Graham, we think we are sending him the making of one of the best lieutenants," and with that the colonel bowed as he took the hand of Geordie's mother. "Good sons make good soldiers all the world over, Mrs. Graham, and we'll expect great things of yours," he added, then grasped the doctor's out-stretched hand and gave way to others who came crowding forward, among them a gentle, motherly woman in half-mourning, whose eyes were moist as she exchanged greeting with Mrs. Graham.

"Benny will be here the moment they break ranks," she said. "I know he, too, will want to congratulate George."

And so there was quite a little gathering, and what the papers call an "ovation," about the young graduate, who was blushing not a little through his healthy tan. He was quite unable to hear where his classmates had been distributed in the other regiments of cavalry and infantry, and he was anxious to know, but even when the line of cadet officers came marching to the front and stood at salute before the battalion commander, and then broke ranks, and as many as a dozen made a rush at their former first captain, eager to take him by the hand and say a word of congratulation before they went bounding away to doff dress hats, plumes, and sashes—even then Graham could