"What is there to grieve about, dear?" she pleaded. "What does it really matter to us? We have health, home, our boys, each other--quite enough to live on--Why should it so distress you? Indeed, I almost cried aloud, 'Is that all?' when you showed me the message. I feared so much worse. Why, think, Graeme, in all the gay crowd that comes here every day, is there a woman half as happy as I am? Is there one of them really as rich as we are--we who have so many blessings?" "It's for 'Bud' I'm thinking most now," was the mournful answer. "There can be no Columbia for him. I've borrowed money to meet the assessments, and the money's got to be paid. This isn't like having one's house burned, or his ranch blown away, his herds scattered, by the act of God. This is being robbed of the savings of years by organized, legalized swindlers, men who claimed to be our friends. It's that--and my helplessness--that hurts." The boys had remained without, talking in low, grave tones, Bud's boisterous spirits suddenly quenched. Presently the sound of their murmuring died away. There was no answer when Mrs. Graham called. Going to the door she looked anxiously about her. From up the roadway to the north came the sound of merry voices and the shuffle of many feet--the battalion hurrying down the broad stone steps of Grant Hall and forming for the march back to camp. The young "first captain" called them to attention and gave the commands that swung them into column of platoons and striding away under the leafy arch to the open plain. Oh, with what pride had she not listened, night after night, from September to mid-June, to Geordie's ringing, masterful tones, _her_ Geordie, foremost officer of the Corps! And now all that was ended with the graduation to which he had so long looked forward, and now, when but half an hour ago he had so rejoiced in his assignment to the regiment of his choice--now must come this cloud upon his young life, his and blithe-hearted Bud, who so adored him. She knew well that his first act would be to set aside a certain portion of his scanty pay for her use, and for her own part she would not so have it. But where were the boys, and why had they gone? It was some minutes before Bud returned, alone. "Where is Geordie?" she asked. Bud dropped his cap on the hall table, looking dispirited and troubled. "Gone to the hotel, mother--wants to see"--with a gulp--"McCrea--and I'm of no use to anybody." "You can be and will be," was the gentle answer, as the mother wound an arm about and led him within. There in silence and semi-darkness they sat awhile. The doctor had gone into his little library to look over memoranda and accounts. It was nine o'clock when Geordie's quick, soldierly step was heard on the walk without. He came bounding up and in, alert, virile, and vigorous. "You saw Mr. McCrea, Geordie?" "Yes, mother. He's going to Newburg to catch the Pacific express on the Central, and, mother--I'm going with him." CHAPTER III