And from such a scene as that, with streaming eyes and trembling lips and a heart overflowing with pride, joy, gratitude, and the longing to throw herself upon her knees and pour out her very soul in praise and thanksgiving, this devoted mother was summoned to another. The doctor had fled away from the bevy of friends who had hastened to congratulate and shake him by the hand. He had finally escaped to his little den, trying to compose himself, and write calmly and judiciously, as became a father, to his soldier son. Bud, nearly wild with delight, had finally been "fired," as he expressed it, from Cadet Frazier's room by the officer-in-charge, and started for home toward half-past ten o'clock, when in front of the officers' mess he was suddenly hailed by a grave-faced professor: "You're needed at home, Bud," and, running, he found Colonel Hazzard and his father at the library door, a telegram open in the latter's trembling hand. "Not a word now, son. Just read this and then--call mither." With paling face and suddenly swimming eyes, Bud read the dancing words: "Severe action. Graham wounded; left thigh. Serious, but doing well. Our loss heavy. "(Signed) MCCREA." And so they got the first news of the bitter midwinter battle that ended the days of Big Foot and so many of his band, that cost us the lives of so many gallant officers and men, among the icy flats and snow-patched ravines along the Wounded Knee. * * * * *