It was a poor little glove--a poor little cheap thread glove; but all the finest and softest kids that lay in their perfumed boxes in the well-stocked shops of Sootythorn,--all the pale gray kids and pale yellow kids which the young shopmen so strongly recommended as "suitable for the present season,"--were forgotten in a month, whereas Alice Stedman's glove was remembered for years and years. CHAPTER XV. WITH THE MILITIA. The officers met at the orderly-room, after which they all went to the parade-ground at once; the field-officers and the Adjutant on horseback, the rest on foot. Philip Stanburne followed the others. He knew nobody except the Colonel and the Adjutant, who had just said "Good morning" to him in the orderly-room; but they had trotted on in advance, so he was left to his own meditations. It was natural that in passing the bookseller's shop he should think of Miss Stedman, and he felt an absurd desire to go into the shop again and buy another pocket-book, as if by acting the scene over again he could cause the principal personage to reappear. "I don't think she's pretty," said Philip to himself--"at least, not really pretty; but she's a sweet girl. There's a simplicity about her that is very charming. Who would have thought that there was any thing so nice in Sootythorn?" Just as he was thinking this, Philip Stanburne passed close to one of the blackest mills in the place--an old mill,--that is, a mill about thirty years old, for mills, like horses, age rapidly; and through the open windows there came a mixture of bad smells on the hot foul air, and a deafening roar of machinery, and above the roar of machinery a shrill clear woman's voice singing. The voice must have been one of great power, for it predominated over all the noises in the place; and it either was really a very sweet one or its harshness was lost in the noises, whilst it rose above them purified. Philip stopped to listen, and as he stopped, two other officers came up behind him. The footpath was narrow, and as soon as he perceived that he impeded the circulation, Philip went on. "That's one o' th' oudest mills i' Sootythorn," said one of the officers behind Captain Stanburne; "it's thirty year oud, if it's a day." The broad Lancashire accent surprised Captain Stanburne, and attracted his attention. Could it be possible that there were officers in the regiment who spoke no better than that? Evidently this way of speaking was not confined to an individual officer, for the speaker's companion answered in the same tone,-- "Why, that's John Stedman's mill, isn't it?" "John Stedman? John Stedman? it cannot be t' same as was foreman to my father toward thirty year sin'?" When Philip Stanburne heard the name of Stedman, he listened attentively. The first speaker answered, "Yes, but it is--it's t' same man." "Well, an' how is he? he must be well off. Has he any chilther?" "Just one dorter, a nice quiet lass, 'appen eighteen year old."