On the way back to camp I went through the woods, and there I passed the poor lieutenant, walking with dragging step, still with his head upon his breast. But when I came to the company street, there in front of his tent stood the captain, a different picture. He was as straight as a--well, as a soldier, which he was, every inch of him, with his head up and his jaw set. I saluted, and he returned the salute, always with that searching look at me which now I'm sure of the meaning of. Yes, Vera's got him too. It's time, for every reason, that we were away from here. DICK. FROM VERA WADSWORTH TO HER SISTER FRANCES Plattsburg Post, Sept. 23, 1916. DEAR FRANCES:-- I am so glad you are coming, but wish you were coming by train instead of with the Chapmans in their car. For I can't get you here a minute too soon, nor have you too much to myself. The Chapmans say they want to see a hike camp, and how can I excuse myself from going too? Everything has gone wrong, quite wrong. I thought I could keep the lieutenant off, but I did not realize what a soldier is. Last night he had to have his answer, and I was telling him as gently as I could, when the stupid servant opened the front door to the captain and let him make his own way into the parlor, where he stood before I had heard a sound. If he didn't see what was going on, he was blind. And then I lost my head over the sudden notion that here was my chance to get rid of him too. For the man frightens me, Frances; I never met one who was so steady and so determined and so strong. Maybe I blundered; I don't know. But I can't have him getting to know me any better; I want never to see him again. So I said (I know I stiffened horribly as I said it, the thing was so uncalled for and so un-nice) "The lieutenant and I were just discussing army life, captain, and how little it has for a woman. For a man ought to be able to offer the best that there is." It hurt him; it hurt his opinion of me. He went away almost without a word. I never was so ashamed; never before have I felt like a butcher. But if I meant it why shouldn't I say it? Let him hate me, if only he lets me alone. They march out Monday, and as I hear the drums go by on the main road I shall be glad. But I do so want to see you. Hurry the Chapmans all you can. Longingly, VERA. FROM DAVID RIDGWAY FARNHAM, 3D, TO HIS FATHER Plattsburg, Sunday the 24th. DEAR FATHER:--