me; a birch-bark canoe was passing close in shore, and two were in
it,--Jeannette and our surgeon. I could not hear their words, but I
noticed Rodney's expression as he leaned forward. Jeannette was
paddling slowly; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes brilliant.
Another moment and a point hid them from my view. I went home
troubled.

'Did you enjoy the picnic, Miss Augusta?' I said with assumed
carelessness, that evening. 'Dr. Prescott was there, as usual, I
suppose?'

'He was not present, but the picnic was highly enjoyable,' replied
Miss Augusta, in her even voice and impartial manner.

'The Doctor has not been with us for some days,' said the major's
wife, archly; 'I suspect he does not like Mr. Piper.'

Mr. Piper was a portly widower, of sanguine complexion, a Chicago
produce-dealer, who was supposed to admire Miss Augusta, and was now
going through a course of 'The Harp that once.'

The last days of summer flew swiftly by; the surgeon held himself
aloof; we scarcely saw him in the garrison circles, and I no longer
met him in my rambles.

'Jealousy!' said the major's wife.

September came. The summer visitors fled away homeward; the remaining
'Indian curiosities' were stored away for another season; the hotels
were closed, and the forests deserted; the bluebells swung unmolested