'Why not have her up for one of our sociables?' hazarded our most
dashing lieutenant, twirling his moustache.

'Frederick!' exclaimed his wife, in a tone of horror: she was
aristocratic, but sharp in outlines.

'Why not bring her into the church? Those French half-breeds are
little better than heathen,' said the chaplain.

Thus the high authorities disapproved of my educational efforts. I
related their comments to Archie, and added, 'The surgeon is the only
one who has said nothing against it.'

'Prescott? O, he's too high and mighty to notice anybody, much less a
half-breed girl. I never saw such a stiff, silent fellow; he looks as
if he had swallowed all his straightlaced Puritan ancestors. I wish
he'd exchange.'

'Gently, Archie--'

'O, yes, without doubt; certainly, and amen! I know you like
him, Aunt Sarah,' said my handsome boy-soldier, laughing.

The lessons went on. We often saw the surgeon during study hours as
the stairway leading to his room opened out of the little parlor.
Sometimes he would stop awhile and listen as Jeannette slowly read,
'The good boy likes his red top'; 'The good girl can sew a seam', or
watched her awkward attempts to write her name, or add a one and a
two. It was slow work, but I persevered, if from no other motive than
obstinacy. Had they not all prophesied a failure? When wearied with