darkening over her face, she went slowly down stairs.

Her father met her with a kiss and clasp of the hand even warmer than
usual.

"Well, General!" he said, in a voice which insisted upon being cheery,
"marching orders, eh? Marching orders! Break up camp! boot, saddle, to
horse and away! Forces to march in different directions, by order of the
commander-in-chief." But the next moment he added, in an altered tone:
"My girl, mamma knows best; remember that! She is right in this move, as
she generally is. Cheer up, darling, and let us make the last evening a
happy one!"

Hilda tried to smile, for who _could_ be angry with papa? She made a
little effort, and the father and mother made a great one,--_how_ great
she could not know; and so the evening passed, better than might have
been expected.

The evening passed, and the night, and the next day came; and it was
like waking from a strange dream when Hilda found herself in a railway
train, with her father sitting beside her, and her mother's farewell
kiss yet warm on her cheek, speeding over the open country, away from
home and all that she held most dear. Her dressing-bag, with her
umbrella neatly strapped to it, was in the rack overhead, the check for
her trunk in her pocket. Could it all be true? She tried to listen while
her father told her of the happy days he had spent on his grandfather's
farm when he was a boy; but the interest was not real, and she found it
hard to fix her mind on what he was saying. What did she care about
swinging on gates, or climbing apple-trees, or riding unruly colts! She
was not a boy, nor even a tomboy. When he spoke of the delights of