"MY DEAR SOLDIER,--I've been so busy fighting your enemies I couldn't write a letter. I've met both the Secretary and the commissioner--their desks are said to be full of screeds against you--_and I've been to see the President_! He wasn't a bit gallant, but he listened. He glowered at me (not unkindly) while I told your story. I'm afraid I didn't phrase it very well, but he listened. I brought out all the good points I could think of. I said: 'Mr. President, Captain Curtis is the most disinterested man in the Indian service. He is sacrificing everything for his plans.' 'What are his plans?' he asked, so abruptly that I jumped. I then spoke learnedly of irrigating ditches and gardens; you would have laughed had you heard me, and I said: 'If he is ordered back to his regiment, Mr. President, these poor people will be robbed again.' 'Does Mr. Blank, of New York, endorse Captain Curtis?' he asked. I didn't see what this led to, but I answered that I did not know. 'He's a friend of yours, isn't he?' he asked. 'Whom do you mean?' I said, and my cheeks burned. Then he smiled. 'You needn't worry,' he said, banging the table with his fist. 'I'll keep Captain Curtis where he is if every politician in the State petitions for his removal.' I liked his wooden cuss-word, and I thanked him and jumped up and hurried home to write this letter. The Secretary told Osborne that the bill for buying out the settlers would certainly go through next winter, and that your plans were approved by the whole department. So, you see, you are master of the situation, and can plan as grandly as you wish--the entire reservation is yours. "It is still hot here, and now that my 'lobbying' is done, I am going to the sea-shore, where papa is, and I know I shall wish you were with me to enjoy it. I am so sorry for you and Jennie, my heart aches for you. Think of it! The cool, beautiful ocean will be singing me to sleep to-night. I wish I could send you some fruit and some ices; I know you are longing for them. "I wonder how it will all turn out? Will you be East this winter? Perhaps I'll help you celebrate the opening of your new gardens, next spring. Wouldn't you like me to come out and break a bottle of wine over the first plough or water-gate or something? If you do, maybe I'll come. If you write, address me at the Brunswick, Crescent Beach. I wish you could come and see me here--you look so handsome in your uniform." The soldier's answer was not a letter, it was a packet! He began by writing sorrowfully: