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"Bat Truxton's daughter, and the village schoolmistress. Billy thinks he's rather hard hit, I fancy." "I've heard of her," Conniston replied, frowning at the map he was holding flat on the table. "Dam Number Two is the one which is completed, isn't it? And Number Three is the smaller auxiliary dam? How about Number One, which seems to be the most important of the lot?
Scattered here and there upon the sand, some not twenty feet from the tent, some a hundred yards, some few with a little straw under them, the most of them with their blankets thrown upon the sand or upon heaps of cut sage-brush, were Truxton's "muckers."
His flaming wrath burst out at a blundering mistake or at a man's failure to follow to the last letter some short-spoken instructions. It was only one night when Conniston made careless mention of Oliver Swinnerton, and Truxton flew into a towering, cursing rage, that he began to believe that he saw the real reason for Truxton's growing ill temper. "The thievin', mangy, pot-bellied porcupine!"
Ascending the steps of her uncle's house, by this time reached, Leah extended her hand and said, "Good-by. I'll tarry here to-night." Clasping her soft hand, he said, "I shall see you soon. Good-night." A week after Madam Truxton's school closed, the term of the military academy ended.
"Ah me!" she sighed, as she arranged the shining curls before her simple mirror, "this is the last day. I am almost sorry he ever came to Melrose. I was so interested in my school before; now, I fear I'll be always thinking of the army. Yes, I'll put on this blue ribbon-he likes blue, he admired the blue 'forget-me-not' I wore at Madam Truxton's the first night I ever met him.
"May. The days are growing warmer beautiful days, too. Everything is in bloom, and the old Queen City looks charming. The girls, too, Madam Truxton's and all others, swarm about the town like bees in a rose-garden. I meet them at every turn. "My uniform is getting rather shabby; the buttons and lace are quite tarnished. I must have a new suit before long.
A nobler, braver spirit never stepped from college walls upon life's crowded highway, or one with firmer, truer tread than he. TIME rolled on. Months had melted into months until they were calendared by years, since we bade adieu to Madam Truxton's finishing class on that departed June day 185-, and watched with regretful eye the last well-executed drill of the graduating cadets of the same year.
Beaufort had come to live with the Judge. Truxton's boyhood had been spent on the old estate. The Judge's income was small, and Truxton had known few luxuries. Like the rest of the boys of the Bannister family he was studying law at the University. He and Randy had been classmates, but had gone into different branches of the service.
"I am proud of my daughter," he said; "proud that no one at Madam Truxton's excelled my own Leah. I am proud of your example to your sisters, and trust they will strive to emulate it." "Thank you, father. I hope I shall never cause you shame," she replied with tenderness. During this brief dialogue, the evil-eyed mother had sat an attentive listener, her jealous nature stirred to its depths.
"I'm going around to Truxton's a little while this evening," he said, trying to speak as a man of the world should, but flushing up under Garton's twinkling eyes. "If you find time dragging on your hands you might come along, Mr. Conniston. Miss Jocelyn" he hesitated a moment "Miss Jocelyn said I might bring you around."
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