It was a lovely warm Sunday, too, and the old chaplain was effective as a reader. The choir was capital, despite Priscilla's criticisms, and the attendance was large. Army folk, as a rule, flock but sparsely to the sanctuary, but Minneconjou had not a few devout church people, even in the ranks, Blenke being so earnest in his piety that when detailed for Sunday guard he never failed to effect an exchange, even though it cost him two tours for one. Furthermore, it was communion service, and unusually long. Marion Ray had entered early--Sandy, pale-faced and thin, at her side; and together they had knelt, mother and son, and then sat silently awaiting the "Processional." When Dwight and Jimmy walked up the aisle and took a pew on the other side and nearer the altar, Marion had smiled fond greeting to the little fellow, and he had answered. Twice as she gazed at them later, Dwight's arm about Jimmy's curly head, his sinewy hand resting on the further shoulder and drawing him to his side, heavy tears welled up into the blue eyes of the tender-hearted woman. Never yet had that strong, sinewy hand been uplifted to inflict the lightest chastisement on Margaret's beloved boy. Only the day before on his regular visit, nestling to her knee and telling her laughingly how Sergeant Shock, the schoolmaster, had walloped Scotty Burns, the band leader's eldest hope, Jimmy had looked up suddenly into her eyes. "Why, Aunt Marion," he said, "only think! I've never known what it was to be whipped. Can you fancy daddy's ever using a strap on me?" "God forbid!" she shuddered, not knowing why, thinking perhaps only what agonies that would have cost Margaret, and then Priscilla had come in and their confidences ceased. Priscilla was firm in her theory that children were too much petted and coddled nowadays, and that more of the rod and less of rhubarb was what they needed. Suddenly, just after the second lesson, while the rich ringing voices of the soldier choir were chanting the "Gloria," little Jim was seen to bow his head and burrow for his handkerchief. Dwight looked down, bent over him, whispered a word or two, smiled encouragement and fond assurance, and, blushing very much, with downcast eyes and his face half hidden in cambric, the lad came forth and hastened down the aisle and out into the brilliant sunshine beyond. "Nose-bleed," whispered Dwight to Mrs. Stone, who leaned back, sympathetically, from her pew. "It sometimes seizes him just that way." And the stately service went uninterruptedly on, and Jimmy over home, and little more was said of the incident until the coming of another day. CHAPTER VIII ACCUSING LETTERS