with some of her fellow-passengers.  He thought her smiles had even a perfunctory friendliness, and he had to share them besides with others.  It was plain she had never received his letter.  No woman could bear herself like that who had received such a letter.  Then too she appeared so handsome, so high-bred, so charming and noticeable a figure in the little company about her that Raymond felt a peremptory sense of his own humbleness and of the impassable void between them.  How had he ever dared aspire to this beautiful woman, and the thought of his effrontery took him by the throat.

He stood by the gangway as the passengers came off, an interminable throng, slow moving, teetering on the slats, a gush of funnelled humanity, hampered with bags, hat-boxes, rolls of rugs, dressing-cases, golf-sticks, and children.  At last Miss Latimer was carried into the eddy, her maid behind her carrying her things, lost to view save by the bright feather in her travelling bonnet.  The seconds were like hours as Raymond waited.  He had a peep of her, smiling and patient, talking over her shoulder to a big Englishman behind her.  Then, as the slow stream brought her down, she stepped lightly on the wharf, turned to Raymond, and, before he could so much as stammer out a word, flung her arms round his neck and kissed him.

“Did you really want me?” she said; and then, “You gave me but two hours to catch the old Touraine!”

THE MASCOT OF BATTERY B

Battery A had a mascot goat, and Battery C a Filipino kid, and Battery D a parrot that could swear in five languages, but I guess we were the only battery in the brigade that carried an old lady!  Filipino, nothing!  But white as yourself and from Oakland, California, and I don’t suppose I’d be here talking to you now, if it hadn’t been for her.

I had known Benny a long time—­Benny was her son, you know, the only one she had—­and when I enlisted at the beginning of the war Benny wished to do it, too, only he was scared to death, not of the Spaniards, but his old Ma!  So he hung off and on, while I drilled at the Presidio and rode free on the street cars, and did the little hero act, and ate pie the whole day long.  My!  How they used to bring us pies in them times and boxes of see-gars—­and flowers!  Flowers to burn!  Well I remember a Wisconsin regiment marching along Market Street, big splendid men from the up-North woods, every one of them with a Calla lily stuck in his gun!  Oh, it was fine, with the troops pouring in, and the whole city afire to receive them, and the girls almost cutting the clothes off your back for souvenirs—­and it made Benny sick to see it all, him clerking in a hardware store and eating his heart out to go with the boys.  He hung back as long as he could, but at last he couldn’t stand it no longer, and the day before we sailed he went and enlisted in my battery.