At once, Sergeant Newt Spooner stood at attention, his heels together and his hand at his hat-brim in salute. The officer, too, was taking in those things which military men observe. He saw the service stripes and the two medals on the breast, and his eyes brightened. As he returned the salute he cheerily inquired: "What command, sergeant?" "Fifty-ninth Infantry, sir; late of the 26th Volunteers." "Here on leave?" "Recruiting detail, sir." The officer's eyes were dwelling on the decorated breast. "Medal of Honor man," he said. "What service was that, sergeant?" The girl, whose less-trained eyes had not recognized the import of the little metal disc, flushed with pleasure. Newt flushed, too. It irked him to talk about himself; but the military ethics were ingrained, and he still stood upright, and answered respectfully, but as briefly as possible: "The islands, sir. Province of Nueva Ecija." When the lieutenant had gone, the sergeant looked down in an embarrassed fashion at the white road. "Minerva," he said, "I don't know whether it interests you, but I'm studying pretty hard myself. That's why I asked for this detail. That and one other reason. I'm only a non-commissioned officer, and you're almost a school-teacher. I'm on the wrong side of the line, but I've applied for an examination, and, when this term of enlistment is up I've got a good chance of a commission." He saw her looking at his medal, and heard her saying: "I should think you would have, Newty." "Oh," he hastened to tell her, "I mean that I've got an influential friend, who's going to help me." "Who is that, Newty?" she demanded; and, as he answered, the young sergeant flushed. "The best soldier in the service, Colonel Henry Falkins." The girl looked down at the pavement and then up at the tender green of the maples. Her only reply was a low, "Oh!" but her voice said more, and presently she added a question: "You said, Newty--" her eyes now held a challenging twinkle as she spoke--"that there was one other reason why you asked for this--what do you call it?--oh, yes, I know, this detail. What was that reason?" The sergeant raised his face, and held her eyes with a steady gaze, until her own eyes fell, and her cheeks grew more rosy. "That reason," he announced boldly, "is that I want plenty of chance to tell you what the reason is." THE END * * * * * JOHN FOX, JR'S. STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS _THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE._ Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the _foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine."