Waterbury evening Democrat., 1894-08-11

who instantly attracted the notice of his officers. The campaign was full of danger, adventure, rapid and constant marching. and before he knew it or dreamed it possible he had become deep- ly interested in his new life
 Only in the monotony of a month or two in garrison that winter did the service seem intolerable. His comrades were rough in the main, but thoroughly good hearted, and he soon won their es- teem. The spring sent them again into the field, another stirring campaign, and here he won his stripes and words of praise from the lips of Q veteran general officer as well as the promise of future reward, and then the love of soldierly deeds and the thirst for soldierly renown took firm hold in his breast He began to turn toward the mother and father who had been wrapped up in his future. who loved him so devotedly. He was forgetting his early and passionate love, and the bitter sorrow of her death was losing fast its poignant power to steel him against his kindred. He knew they could not but be proud of the record he had made in the ranks of the gallant -th, and then he shrank and shivered when he recalled the dreadful words of his curse. He had made up his mind to write, implore pardon for his hideous and unfilial language and invoke their interest in his career, when, returning to Fort Raines for supplies, he picked up New York paper i'll the reading room and read the announcement of his fathers death. ''whose health had been broken ever since the disappearance of his only son, two years before. The memory of his malediction had indeed come home to him, and he fell stricken by a sudden and unaccountable blow. It seemed as though his heart had given one wild leap, then stopped forever. Things did not go so well after this. He broOded over his words and believed that an averaging God had launched the bolt that killed the father as punish ment to the stubborn and recreant son. He then bethought him of his mother. of pretty Alice, who had loved him so as little girl. He could not bring him. self to write, but through inquiries he learned that the house was closed and that they had gone abroad. He plodded on in his duties a trying year; then came more lively field work and reviv- ing interest. He was forgetting entire ly the sting of his first great sorrow and mourning gravely the gulf he had placed 'twixt him and his.
 He thought time and again of his cruel words. and something began to whisper to him he must see that mother again at once, kiss her hand and i'm plore her forgiveness, or she, too, would be stricken suddenly. He saved up his money hoping that after the summer $ rife work at Sibley he might get fur. tough and go east, and the night he ar rived at the fort, tired with his long | railway journey and panting after q | long and difficult climb up hill, his I mothers face swam suddenly before his | eyes, and he felt himself going down. When they brought him to, he heard l that the ladies were Mrs. Maynard and her daughter, Miss Renwick-his OWL mother, remarked; his own Alice, I | grown young woman. This was indeed news to put him in fiutter and spoi
 his shooting. He realized at once that the gulf was wider than ever. How could he go to her now, the wife of [ colonel, and he an enlisted man? Like other soldiers, he forgot that the line oi demarcatiOu was one of discipline, not | of sympathy. He did not realize what any soldier among his officers would I gladly have told him-that he was most | worthy to reveal himself now, a non
 commissioned officer whose record Wa. | an honor to himself and to his regi
 ment, soldier of whom officers anC I comrades alike were proud. He nevel | dreamed-indeed, how few there ar, | who do-tlrat q man of his character I standing and ability Is honored and re
 spected by the very men whom the GUS
 toms of the service require him to speal | with only when spoken to. He sup
 posed that only as Fred Renw{ck could
 he extend his hand to one of their mum
 Der, whereas it was under his soldiel
 name he won their trust and admira
 ton, and it was as Sergeant Mcleod
 the officers of the --th were backin.
 him for a commission that would mak,
 him what they deemed him fit to be-
 their equal.
 Unable to penetrate the armor of re
 serve and discipline which separates tn
 officer from the rank and file, he nevc
 imagined that the colonel would hay,
 been the first to welcome him had h.
 known the truth. He believed that nov
 his last chance of seeing his mother wa
 gone until that coveted commission wa
 won. Then came another blow. Tn
 doctor told him that with his hear
 trouble he could never pass the physica
 examination. He could not hope fO
 preferment, then, and must see her a
 he was and see her secretly and alone
 Then came blow after blow. His shoot
 ing had failed. so had that of others O
 his regiment, and he was ordered to re
 turn in charge of the party early on tn
 morrow. The order reached him late il
 the evening, and before breakfast tim
 on the following day he was directed | start with his party for town, thence b rail to his distant post. That night, i
 desperation, he made his plan. Twic before he had strolled down to the post and with yearning eyes had studied ey
 cry feature of the colonel's house Fl dared ask no questions of servants or ( the men in garrison, but he learne I enough to know which rooms wer l theirs, and he had noted that the vii l dows were always open. If he coul | only see their loved faces, kneel an D kiss his mothers hand, pray God to fo e give him, he could go away believin 1 that he had undone the spell and r n voked the malediction of his earl
 youth. It was hazardous, but wort e the danger. He could go in peace all D sin no more toward mother, at leas
 and then if she mourned and misse s him could he not find it out some da and make himself known to her after h - discharge? He slipped out of caml e leaving his boots behind and wearir - his light Apache moccasins and fam