The falter in his cheery voice, the dimness of his eyes, the smile on his lips, and the gesture with which he returned the pressure of the hand upon his arm, told the little romance of the good major’s life more eloquently than pages of fine writing, and touched the hearts of those who loved him. “I have been faithful for eleven years. Give me my reward soon, won’t you, dear?” whispered Sidney. “Don’t marry me to-morrow, and if mamma is willing I’ll think about it by and by,” answered Amy. “It is beautiful! let us go and do likewise,” said Sigismund to his betrothed. But Helen, anxious to turn the thoughts of all from emotions too deep for words, drew from her pocket a small pearl-colored object, which she gave to Amy with mock solemnity, as she said, turning to lay her hand again in her lover’s,— “Amy, our search is over. _You_ may keep the gloves; _I_ have the baron.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ MY RED CAP. “He who serves well need not fear to ask his wages.” ------- I. IT was under a blue cap that I first saw the honest face of Joe Collins. In the third year of the late war a Maine regiment was passing through Boston, on its way to Washington. The Common was all alive with troops and the spectators who clustered round them to say God-speed, as the brave fellows marched away to meet danger and death for our sakes. Every one was eager to do something; and, as the men stood at ease, the people mingled freely with them, offering gifts, hearty grips of the hand, and hopeful prophecies of victory in the end. Irresistibly attracted, my boy Tom and I drew near, and soon, becoming excited by the scene, ravaged the fruit-stands in our neighborhood for tokens of our regard, mingling candy and congratulations, peanuts and prayers, apples and applause, in one enthusiastic jumble. While Tom was off on his third raid, my attention was attracted by a man who stood a little apart, looking as if his thoughts were far away. All the men were fine, stalwart fellows, as Maine men usually are; but this one over-topped his comrades, standing straight and tall as a Norway pine, with a face full of the mingled shrewdness, sobriety, and self-possession of the typical New Englander. I liked the look of him; and, seeing that he seemed solitary, even in a crowd, I offered him my last apple with a word of interest. The keen blue eyes met mine gratefully, and the apple began to vanish in vigorous bites as we talked; for no one thought of ceremony at such a time. “Where are you from?” “Woolidge, ma’am.” “Are you glad to go?” “Wal, there’s two sides to that question. I calk’late to do my duty, and do it hearty; but it _is_ rough on a feller leavin’ his folks, for good, maybe.”