She was not encouraging her young adorer; far from it, she was snubbing him in the most contemptuous manner possible, by either ignoring his offered attentions entirely, or else repelling them carelessly, as she would have brushed off a troublesome fly. She grew moody, silent and unsocial. She studied Casey’s Tactics all day long, except for an hour in the morning, which she spent in drilling. She borrowed her father’s rifle, and went through the exercises with it, while the quiet drawing-room of the parsonage echoed with “the accents of an unknown tongue.” “_Shoale-dore_—HUMS! _Pre-sent_—HUMS! _Shoale-dore_—HUMS!” “For you see, Britty, I notice that the drill officer on parade don’t say ‘shoulder,’ but ‘shoale-dore!’ nor ‘arms,’ but ‘hums!’ and I want to be right by drill and not dictionary,” Elfie explained to Miss Conyers, who sat watching her performance in amazement. “But Elfie, my dear, why do you go through all this!” she inquired. “Don’t you wish I’d tell you?” mocked Elfie, trailing arms and panting for breath. “Yes, I do!” said Miss Conyers, gravely. “But I won’t.—Dear me, this rifle is very heavy,” said Elfie, as she set the arms up in a corner, and threw herself into an easy chair to recover her breath; “I do wonder why the government don’t have lighter ones made, such as might be handled easily by a boy of fifteen—” “Or a girl of twenty,” murmured Britomarte, looking wistfully at Major Fielding’s daughter. “—I am sure they have enough of such boys in the army—” “—And a few of such girls,” murmured Miss Conyers thoughtfully. “And I don’t wonder the poor lads drop exhausted on the march, carrying such heavy rifles.” “Or that the poor lasses sometimes break down and get found out.” “I wish to goodness they would make lighter ones; I’m sure it would pay to do it.” “So do I; I think so, too,” murmured Miss Conyers. “Britomarte, why do you sit there whispering to yourself like a wicked enchantress muttering her incantations? What are you saying or thinking?” irritably questioned Elfie. “I am thinking, Elfie, from what I see, that you are contemplating enlistment; and Elfie, I will not be the one to discourage you provided you have your father’s consent,” said Miss Conyers, earnestly. “Yes; but I haven’t got it, and I couldn’t get it. At the mere mention of the thing the dear old boy raised such a row as never was. Blest if I didn’t think he’d raise the other Old Boy from the place below, you know. No, Britty, I am not dreaming of enlisting.” “Well, then, what _are_ you dreaming of?” “Ah, wouldn’t you like to know?” “Indeed I should. What is it, Elfie?” “Why, that’s the mystery; but it may come out in a few days, as the doctor said of the measles, or the cat of the mouse, I forget which.” “Elfie, what _are_ you talking of, love? Mystery, measles, mouse—what do you mean?” “When does the draft come off?” inquired Elfie, without answering Britomarte’s question. “Next week.”