alias "Bones," setting down his mug and wiping his mustache as he spoke. "Langforth and I plead guilty to the slaughter of most of these horns and hides, for we're the 'mighty hunters' of this aggregation, but that pair of antlers fell to someone else's rifle. Splendid pair, eh? There's a sort of story goes with 'em, too. Ask the colonel."

"Yes, there is a story connected with that pair," said Colonel Elliott, who, from his side of the table, overheard the doctor's suggestion. He rose, transferred his chair and mug to a position next Kenryck, and continued: "In fact, when we began to fit up this place, we made it a rule not to admit among the decorations anything which didn't have a history of some sort. So, you see, The Battery is rather an interesting establishment, and if any of us had time or taste for that sort of thing we could get up a good-sized book without having to go outside these walls to hunt for material."

"It's a mighty interesting outfit—the whole of it," said Kenryck, glancing up and down the long room, and noting the collection of odds and ends upon the walls and in every nook and corner. "We're pretty well fixed, up at our headquarters, but we've nothing so homelike as this. The general often says that he enjoys nothing more than an inspection of the Third, with a 'wind-up' afterwards up here. Possibly you've noticed that, on occasions of that sort, his whole staff is apt to come with him."

"Yes," said the colonel dryly, remembering the extra cases of beer which have to be laid in against such emergencies as an official visit from the brigade staff; "yes, I've noticed it. It's very flattering to us, I'm sure."

Kenryck must have been aware of something in the colonel's tone, for he promptly drew upon his reserve supply of tact and said, "Do you mind telling me the story of those horns? It's worth hearing, I know, for Sawin put me up to asking for it."

"It's an old story to 'Bones,'" said the colonel, adding, as Sam passed him, "Break into another case, Sam, and then chuck a couple more sticks into the fire."

"It must be a good one, then, or he never would have let me in for it," remarked Kenryck.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," said the colonel, laughing; "the doctor's capable of almost anything inhuman, and he may be paying off an old score, for all you know, by letting you in for a twenty-minute bore. 'Bones,' what's your grudge against Kenryck?"—but the surgeon had joined a group at another table, and so the colonel, getting no reply to his question, went on: "Do you see that little ivory plate fastened to the shield on which the horns are mounted? Well, that bears an inscription something like this:

John Harnden Pender, C.S.N.,
to
Henry Elliott, U.S.N.
Jan'y 29th, 1871.

"And the story is not a long one:

"My father was interested in shipping, and at the breaking out of the war he owned quite a respectable little fleet of vessels. Most of them were employed in coastwise trade, but he had something like three or four square-riggers winging it back and forth between here and England—and sometimes, though rarely, one of his vessels would make a longer voyage, to Bombay, or 'round the Horn to Frisco. Ah, those were the good old days! when the harbor was crowded with shipping, and at least every other ship flew the stars and stripes," and the colonel raised his mug to his lips, as if drinking to the past glories of our merchant marine.

"It must have been a pleasant sight," said Kenryck, in the pause incident to this operation. "I'm a young man, and can't remember that time, but now-days it's sort of pathetic to see the harbor filled with huge steamers under foreign bunting, while here and there along the docks a few wretched little schooners represent our maritime dignity."

"Yes, it's pathetic enough," said the colonel, "but it's more humiliating than pathetic. However, we can't go into the discussion of what knocked in the head our ocean carrying trade without running foul of politics, and politics are barred, up here in The Battery.

"Well, to get back to my story: my father naturally had quite an acquaintance among Englishmen, and in Liverpool there was an old party named McClintock, with whom, in particular, he had very extensive dealings. In course of time he and my governor became great chums, and finally it got so that once in two years, and sometimes oftener, one or the other of them would cross the pond, nominally on business, but really for a visit. Lord! how well I can remember old David McClintock—'Mac,' my governor used to call him. Square-built and stocky, hearty and bluff, intellectually sure, but awfully slow—he certainly was a man to make an impression, for he represented a type with which we are not over-familiar on this side the water. I can't forget how he used to laugh at the governor's yarns: ten minutes would go by without any sign of comprehension from him; then he would begin to shake; and finally the spasm would pass away, leaving him gasping for breath, and scarlet in the face. Really, Kenryck, I used to worry about old Mac, at those times, for his internal mirth was something awful, and it made me fear for his blood-vessels."

"I know a man like that," put in Kenryck, "and it makes me nervous to be near him when anything amuses him. But somehow, Colonel, he seems to get more satisfaction from his silent way of laughing than most men do who laugh out loud."

"The last time that McClintock came over to this side," continued the colonel, after a glance at the antlers and the faded colors crossed below them, "was in '60. He brought his daughter with him—a pretty girl, too; about eighteen at that time. I'm not making any official statement, Kenryck, but I've always thought that the two old gentlemen had put their heads together with an idea of arranging an international marriage, in which one of the leading parts was to have been assigned to me. It may be, though, that my suspicions have been unfounded, for there certainly never was anything said about it. Anyway, if either old Mac or my governor had been indulging in any schemes of that sort, they were destined to disappointment, because, firstly, I had reasons for thinking that a certain little Boston girl was about the proper thing for me, and secondly—and a clincher on obstacle number one—little Bess McClintock took a strong dislike to me. Never quite understood why," said the colonel, meditatively tugging at his mustache, "and don't yet. I thought that most girls rather liked me, in those days. Probably she saw through the whole business—for she was a level-headed little chap—and got huffed at the idea of being 'managed.'"

"Yes?" said Kenryck, with a rising inflection which hinted at a lack of any very lively interest in what was being said, and led the colonel to continue: "Well, all this is neither here nor there, Kenryck, and you must pardon me for getting away from my yarn. But a pipe and a good listener always tempt me to talk along rather aimlessly.

"When old Mac and his daughter came for their visit, we had with us a young fellow named Pender, from Charleston. He was the son of a man with whom my father, in the course of his southern trade, had a very considerable amount of business, and he had come north to settle up some matter or other—just what, I forget. Gad! but he was a hot-headed little chap! At that time, you know, feeling was beginning to run pretty high, and I had to do some pretty sharp manœuvering in order to keep peace in our house, for my