Think not I love him, though I ask for him;'Tis but a peevish boy: -- yet he talks well --But what care I for words?
A week passed in the usual routine of a garrison.Mabel was becoming used to a situation that, at first she had found not only novel, but a little irksome; and the officers and men in their turn, gradually familiarized to the presence of a young and blooming girl, whose attire and carriage had that air of modest gentility about them which she had obtained in the family of her patroness, annoyed her less by their ill-concealed admiration, while they gratified her by the respect which, she was fain to think, they paid her on account of her father; but which, in truth, was more to be attributed to her own modest but spirited deport-ment, than to any deference for the worthy Sergeant.
Acquaintances made in a forest, or in any circumstances of unusual excitement, soon attain their limits.Mabel found one week's residence at Oswego sufficient to deter-mine her as to those with whom she might be intimate and those whom she ought to avoid.The sort of neutral position occupied by her father, who was not an officer, while he was so much more than a common soldier, by keeping her aloof from the two great classes of military life, lessened the number of those whom she was com-pelled to know, and made the duty of decision compara-tively easy.Still she soon discovered that there were a few, even among those that could aspire to a seat at the Commandant's table, who were disposed to overlook the halbert for the novelty of a well-turned figure and of a pretty, winning face; and by the end of the first two or three days she had admirers even among the gentlemen.
The Quartermaster, in particular, a middle-aged soldier, who had more than once tried the blessings of matrimony already, but was now a widower, was evidently disposed to increase his intimacy with the Sergeant, though their duties often brought them together; and the youngsters among his messmates did not fail to note that this man of method, who was a Scotsman of the name of Muir, was much more frequent in his visits to the quarters of his subordinate than had formerly been his wont.A laugh, or a joke, in honor of the "Sergeant's daughter," how-ever, limited their strictures; though "Mabel Dunham"was soon a toast that even the ensign, or the lieutenant, did not disdain to give.
At the end of the week, Duncan of Lundie sent for Sergeant Dunham, after evening roll-call, on business of a nature that, it was understood, required a personal con-ference.The old veteran dwelt in a movable hut, which, being placed on trucks, he could order to be wheeled about at pleasure, sometimes living in one part of the area within the fort, and sometimes in another.On the present occa-sion, he had made a halt near the centre; and there he was found by his subordinate, who was admitted to his presence without any delay or dancing attendance in an ante-chamber.In point of fact, there was very little dif-ference in the quality of the accommodations allowed to the officers and those allowed to the men, the former being merely granted the most room.
"Walk in, Sergeant, walk in, my good friend," said old Lundie heartily, as his inferior stood in a respectful atti-tude at the door of a sort of library and bedroom into which he had been ushered; -- "walk in, and take a seat on that stool.I have sent for you, man; to discuss anything but rosters and pay-rolls this evening.It is now many years since we have been comrades, and 'auld lang syne'
should count for something, even between a major and his orderly, a Scot and a Yankee.Sit ye down, man, and just put yourself at your ease.It has been a fine day, Sergeant.""It has indeed, Major Duncan," returned the other, who, though he complied so far as to take the seat, was much too practised not to understand the degree of respect it was necessary to maintain in his manner; "a very fine day, sir, it has been and we may look for more of them at this season.""I hope so with all my heart.The crops look well as it is man and you'll be finding that the 55th make almost as good farmers as soldiers.I never saw better potatoes in Scotland than we are likely to have in that new patch of ours.""They promise a good yield, Major Duncan; and, in that light, a more comfortable winter than the last.""Life is progressive, Sergeant, in its comforts as well as in its need of them.We grow old, and I begin to think it time to retire and settle in life.I feel that my working days are nearly over.""The king, God bless him! sir, has much good service in your honor yet.""It may be so, Sergeant Dunham, especially if he should happen to have a spare lieutenant-colonelcy left.""The 55th will be honored the day that commission is given to Duncan of Lundie, sir.""And Duncan of Lundie will be honored the day he re-ceives it.But, Sergeant, if you have never had a lieutenant-colonelcy, you have had a good wife, and that is the next thing to rank in making a man happy.""I have been married, Major Duncan; but it is now a long time since I have had no drawback on the love I bear his majesty and my duty.""What, man! not even the love you bear that active little round-limbed, rosy-cheeked daughter that I have seen in the fort these last few days! Out upon you, Ser-geant! old fellow as I am, I could almost love that little lassie myself, and send the lieuteuant-colonelcy to the devil.""We all know where Major Duncan's heart is, and that is in Scotland, where a beautiful lady is ready and willing to make him happy, as soon as his own sense of duty shall permit.""Ay, hope is ever a far-off thing, Sergeant," returned the superior, a shade of melancholy passing over his hard Scottish features as he spoke; "and bonnie Scotland is a far-off country.Well, if we have no heather and oatmeal in this region, we have venison for the killing of it and salmon as plenty as at Berwick-upon-Tweed.Is it true, Sergeant that the men complain of having been over-venisoned and over-pigeoned of late?"
