“Hush! don’t talk so loud, for Heaven’s sake,” said Wilfred. “I’ve got a jacket here, too.” He drew out of the parcel a small army jacket, a private soldier’s coat. “It’s nearly a fit. It came from the hospital. Johnny Seldon wore it, but he won’t want it any more, you know, and he was just about my size, only his legs were longer. Well,” he continued, as the girl continued to look at him strangely, “I thought you said you wanted to help me.” “I certainly do.” “What are you waiting for, then?” asked Wilfred. The girl took the trousers and dropped on her knees before him. “Stand still,” she said, as she measured the trousers from the waistband to the floor. “This is about the place, isn’t it?” “Yes, just there.” “Wait,” she continued, “until I mark it with a pin.” Wilfred stood quietly until the proper length had been ascertained, and then he assisted Caroline to her feet. “Do you see any scissors about?” she asked in a businesslike way. “I don’t believe there are any in the drawing-room, but I can get some from the women sewing over there. Wait a moment.” “No, don’t,” said the girl; “they would want to know what you wanted with them, and then you would have to tell them.” “Yes,” said the boy; “and I want to keep this a secret between us.” “When are you going to wear them?” “As soon as you get them ready.” “But your mother——” “She knows it. She is going to write to father to-night. She said she would send it by a special messenger, so we ought to get an answer by to-morrow.” “But if he says no?” “I am going anyway.” “Oh, Wilfred, I am so glad. Why, it makes another thing of it,” cried the girl. “When I said that about staying in Richmond, I didn’t know—— Oh, I do want to help all I can.” “You do? Well, then, for Heaven’s sake, be quick about it and cut off those trousers. So long as I get them in the morning,” said Wilfred, “I guess it will be in plenty of time.” “When did you say your mother was going to write?” “To-night.” “Of course, she doesn’t want you to go, and she’ll tell your father not to let you. Yes,” she continued sagely, as Wilfred looked up, horror-stricken at the idea; “that’s the way mothers always do.” “What can I do, then?” he asked her. “Why don’t you write to him yourself, and then you can tell him just what you like.” “That’s a fine idea. I’ll tell him that I can’t stay here, and that I’m going to enlist whether he says so or not. That’ll make him say yes, won’t it?” “Why, of course; there’ll be nothing else for him to say.” “Say, you are a pretty good girl,” said Wilfred, catching her hand impulsively. “I’ll go upstairs and write it now. You finish these as soon as you can. You can ask those women for some scissors, and when they are ready leave them in this closet, but don’t let any one see you doing it, whatever happens.” “No, I won’t,” said Caroline, as Wilfred hurried off.