of him. He seemed made of different stuff from all the people around,"
said Mr. Ringgan sighing, "and they felt it too I used to notice, without
knowing it. When his cousins were 'Sam' and 'Johnny' and 'Bill,' he was
always, that is, after he grew up, '_Mr. Walter._' I believe they were a
little afeard of him. And with all his bravery and fire he could be as
gentle as a woman."

"I know that," said Fleda, whose eyes were dropping soft tears and
glittering at the same time with gratified feeling. "What made him be a
soldier, grandpa?"

"Oh I don't know, dear!--he was too good to make a farmer of--or his high
spirit wanted to rise in the world--he couldn't rest without trying to be
something more than other folks. I don't know whether people are any
happier for it."

"Did _he_ go to West Point, grandpa?"

"No dear!--he started without having so much of a push as that; but he was
one of those that don't need any pushing; he would have worked his way up,
put him anywhere you would, and he did,--over the heads of West Pointers
and all, and would have gone to the top, I verily believe, if he had lived
long enough. He was as fine a fellow as there was in all the army. _I_
don't believe there's the like of him left in it."

"He had been a major a good while, hadn't he, grandpa?"

"Yes. It was just after he was made captain that he went to Albany, and
there he saw your mother. She and her sister, your aunt Lucy, were wards
of the patroon. I was in Albany, in the legislature, that winter, and I