“All right, sir,” said the colonel, regretfully. “If you say so, that goes. But I’d like to try her.”
Her father gave her a sidelong look.
“Now see here, Jerry. The minute I catch you on top of that horse, you can go to bed without rations, and you needn’t wear your colors for a week after. Understand?”
The colonel nodded. Her face was crimson.
“Hang it, you’re not my superior officer, Jim,” said his brother, smiling, “and if I choose to give my niece a ride or so on my own horse it strikes me——”
“Ah! that’s a different matter,” agreed the major, “only I didn’t want the colonel here to think The Lady was an ordinary riding horse.”
The colonel said nothing. She was, at times, an oddly silent child. But she smiled at her uncle, and loved him at once.
It was almost sunset. Long, clear-cut shadows fell across the clean-swept parade. The watering-cart rumbled to and fro, leaving a sweet odor of fresh, wet earth. Lawn-sprinklers began to whirr in the gardens of Officers’ Row. Chattering groups went by, the level red light flashing on white parasols and brass buttons. All of these strollers shouted greetings to the major and the little colonel. Some came up, and were duly presented to the major’s guests. Jerry sat on the steps, her little dark head against the rail, and exchanged banter with a degree of equality that astonished her aunt. The child’s heart was full. She was to be, for several days, privileged by the sight of the great horse—a week would bring the Fourth of July, with its bands and picnic and evening of unclouded joys, fireworks, ice-cream, bonfires. Besides this, the old general, her especial crony, would arrive in a few days for the holiday.
Dinner was late and long. And the after-dinner cigars were interrupted by many reminiscences. By the time the men reached the porch again, the colonel’s patience was sorely strained. She sat waiting for a long half-hour.
“Uncle Bob,” she began at last, when there was a pause, “are you going to see The Lady to-night?”