An idle, happy time! a time to make a worker sigh only to behold, and a Benthamite lift his hands in deprecation and despair.  A time which would not last, because it could not, any more than apple-blossoms and May flowers, but which was sweet and fragrant past all describing while it endured.

Some kindly disposed person sent Surrey a city paper with an item marked in such wise as to make him understand its unpleasant import without the reading.  “Come,” he said, “we will have none of this; this owl does not belong to our sunshine,”—­and so destroyed and forgot it.  Others, however, saw that which he scorned to read.  He had not been into the city since he called at his father’s house, and walked into the reception room of his aunt, and been refused interview or speech at either place.  “Very well,” he thought, “I will go from this painful inhospitality and coldness to my Paradise”; and he went, and remained.

The only letter he wrote was to his old friend and favorite cousin, Tom Russell,—­who was away somewhere in the far South, and from whom he had not heard for many a day,—­and hoped that he, at least, would not disappoint him; would not disappoint the hearty trust he had in his breadth of nature and manly sensibility.

And so, with clouds doubtless in the sky, but which they did not see,—­the sun shone so bright for them; and some discords in the minor keys which they did not heed,—­the major music was so sweet and intoxicating,—­the brief, glad hours wore away, and the time for parting, with hasty steps, had almost reached and faced them.  Meanwhile, what was occurring to others, in other scenes and among other surroundings?

CHAPTER XV

  “There are some deeds so grand
  That their mighty doers stand
  Ennobled, in a moment, more than kings.”

  BOKER

It was towards the evening of a blazing July day on Morris Island.  The mail had just come in and been distributed.  Jim, with some papers and a precious missive from Sallie in one hand, his supper in the other, betook himself to a cool spot by the river,—­if, indeed, any spot could be called cool in that fiery sand,—­and proceeded to devour the letter with wonderful avidity while the “grub,” properly enough, stood unnoticed and uncared for.  Presently he stopped, rubbed his eyes, and re-read a paragraph in the epistle before him, then re-rubbed, and read it again; and then, laying it down, gave utterance to a long whistle, expressive of unbounded astonishment, if not incredulity.

The whistle was answered by its counterpart, and Jim, looking up, beheld his captain,—­Coolidge by name,—­a fast, bright New York boy, standing at a little distance, and staring with amazed eyes at a paper he held in his hands.  Glancing from this to Jim, encountering his look, he burst out laughing and came towards him.

“Helloa, Given!” he called:  Jim was a favorite with him, as indeed with pretty much every one with whom he came in contact, officers and men,—­“you, too, seem put out.  I wonder if you’ve read anything as queer as that,” handing him the paper and striking his finger down on an item; “read it.”  Jim read:—­