East Patten was one of the quietest places in the world. The indisposition of a family horse or cow was cause for animated general conversation, and the displaying of a new poster or prospectus on the post-office door was the signal for a spirited gathering of citizens.

Why, therefore, Major Martt had spent the whole of three successive leaves-of-absence at East Patten, where he hadn\'t a relative, and where no other soldier lived, no one could imagine. Even professional newsmakers never assigned any reason for it, for although their vigorous and experienced imaginations were fully capable of forming some plausible theory on the subject of the major\'s fondness for East Patten, they shrank from making public the results of any such labors.

It was perfectly safe to circulate some purely original story about any ordinary citizen, but there was no knowing how a military man might treat such a matter when it reached his ears, as it was morally sure to do.

Live military men had not been seen in East Patten since the Revolutionary War, three-quarters of a century before the villagers first saw Major Martt; and such soldiers as had been revealed to East Patten through the medium of print were as dangerously touchy as the hair-triggers of their favorite weapons.

So East Patten let the major\'s private affairs alone, and was really glad to see the major in person. There was a scarcity of men at East Patten—of interesting men, at least, for the undoubted sanctity of the old men lent no special graces to their features or manners; while the young men were merely the residuum of an active emigration which had for some years been setting westward from East Patten.

East Patten.
East Patten was one of the quietest places
in the world.

When, therefore, the tall, straight, broad-shouldered, clear-eyed, much-whiskered major appeared on the street, looking (as he always did) as if he had just been shaved, brushed and polished, the sight was an extremely pleasing one, except to certain young men who feared for the validity of their titles to their respective sweethearts should the major chance to be affectionate.

But the major gave no cause for complaint. When he first came to the village he bought Rose Cottage, opposite the splendid Wittleday property, and he spent most of his time (his leave-of-absence always occurring in the Summer season) in his garden, trimming his shrubs, nursing his flowering-plants, growing magnificent roses, and in all ways acting utterly unlike a man of blood. Occasionally he played a game of chess with Parson Fisher, the jolly ex-clergyman, or smoked a pipe with the sadler-postmaster; he attended all the East Patten tea-parties, too, but he made himself so uniformly agreeable to all the ladies that the mothers in Israel agreed with many sighs, that the major was not a marrying man.

It may easily be imagined, then, that when one Summer the major reappeared at East Patten with a brother officer who was young and reasonably good-looking, the major\'s popularity did not diminish.

The young man was introduced as Lieutenant Doyson, who had once saved the major\'s life by a lucky shot, as that chieftain, with empty pistols, was trying to escape from a well-mounted Indian; and all the young ladies in town declared they knew the lieutenant must have done something wonderful, he was so splendid.

But, with that fickleness which seems in some way communicable from wicked cities to virtuous villages, East Patten suddenly ceased to exhibit unusual interest in the pair of warriors, for a new excitement had convulsed the village mind to its very centre.

It was whispered that Mrs. Wittleday, the sole and widowed owner of the great Wittleday property, had wearied of the mourning she wore for the husband she had buried two years previously, and that she would soon publicly announce the fact by laying aside her weeds and giving a great entertainment, to which every one was to be invited.

There was considerable high-toned deprecation of so early a cessation of Mrs. Wittleday\'s sorrowing, she being still young and handsome, and there was some fault found on the economic ground that the widow couldn\'t yet have half worn out her mourning-garments; but as to the propriety of her giving an entertainment, the voices of East Patten were as one in the affirmative.

Such of the villagers as had chanced to sit at meat with the late Scott Wittleday, had reported that dishes with unremembered foreign names were as plenty as were the plainer viands on the tables of the old inhabitants; such East Pattenites as had not been entertained at the Wittleday board rejoiced in a prospect of believing by sight as well as by faith.

The report proved to have unusually good foundation. Within a fortnight each respectable householder received a note intimating that Mrs. Wittleday would be pleased to see self and family on the evening of the following Thursday.

The time was short, and the resources of the single store at East Patten were limited, but the natives did their best, and the eventful evening brought to Mrs. Wittleday\'s handsome parlors a few gentlemen and ladies, and a large number of good people, who, with all the heroism of a forlorn hope, were doing their best to appear at ease and happy.

The major and lieutenant were there, of course, and both in uniform, by special request of the hostess. The major, who had met Mrs. Wittleday in city society before her husband\'s death, and who had maintained a bowing-acquaintance with her during her widowhood, gravely presented the lieutenant to Mrs. Wittleday, made a gallant speech about the debt society owed to her for again condescending to smile upon it, and then presented his respects to the nearest of the several groups of ladies who were gazing invitingly at him.

Then he summoned the lieutenant (whose reluctance to leave Mrs. Wittleday\'s side was rendered no less by a bright smile which that lady gave him as he departed), and made him acquainted with ladies of all ages, and of greatly varying personal appearance. The young warrior went through the ordeal with only tolerable composure, and improved his first opportunity to escape and regain the society of the hostess. Two or three moments later, just as Mrs. Wittleday turned aside to speak to stately old Judge Bray, the lieutenant found himself being led rapidly toward the veranda. The company had not yet found its way out of the parlors to any extent, so the major locked the lieutenant\'s arm in his own, commenced a gentle promenade, and remarked:

"Fred, my boy, you\'re making an ass of yourself."

"Oh, nonsense, major," answered the young man, with considerable impatience. "I don\'t want to know all these queer, old-fashioned people; they\'re worse than a lot of plebes at West Point."

"I don\'t mean that, Fred, though, if you don\'t want to make talk, you must make yourself agreeable. But you\'re too attentive to Mrs. Wittleday."

"By George," responded the lieutenant, eagerly, "how can I help it? She\'s divine!"

"A great many others think so, too, Fred—I do myself—but they don\'t make it so plagued evident on short acquaintance. Behave yourself, now—your eyesight is good—sit down and play the agreeable to some old lady, and look at Mrs. Wittleday across the room, as often as you like."

The lieutenant was young; his face was not under good control, and he had no whiskers, and very little mustache to hide it, so, although he obeyed the order of his superior, it was with a visage so mournful that the major imagined, when once or twice he caught Mrs. Wittleday\'s eye, that that handsome lady was suffering from restrained laughter.

Humorous as the affair had seemed to the major before, he could not endure to have his preserver\'s sorrow the cause of merriment in any one else; so, deputing Parson Fisher to make their excuse to the hostess when it became possible to penetrate the crowd which had slowly surrounded her, the major took his friend\'s arm and returned to the cottage.

"Major!" exclaimed the subaltern, "I—I half wish I\'d let that Indian catch you; then you wouldn\'t have spoiled the pleasantest evening I ever had—ever began to have, I should say."

"You wouldn\'t have had an evening at East Patten then, Fred," said the major, with a laugh, as he passed the cigars, and lit one himself. "Seriously, my boy, you must be more careful. You came here to spend a pleasant three months with me, and the first time you\'re in society you act, to a lady you never saw before, too, in such a way, that if it had been any one but a lady of experience, she would have imagined you in love with her."

"I am in love with her," declared the young man, with a look which was intended to be defiant, but which was noticeably shamedfaced. "I\'m going to tell her so, too—that is, I\'m going to write her about it."

"Steady, Fred—steady!" urged the major, kindly. "She\'d be more provoked than pleased. Don\'t you suppose fifty men have worshiped her at first sight? They have, and she knows it, too—but it hasn\'t troubled her mind at all: handsome women know they turn men\'s heads in that way, and they generally respect the men who are sensible enough to hold their tongues about it, at least until there\'s acquaintance enough between them to justify a little confidence."

"Major," said poor Fred, very meekly, almost piteously, "don\'t—don\'t you suppose I could make her care something for me?"

The major looked thoughtfully, and then tenderly, at the cigar he held between his fingers. Finally he said, very gently:

"My dear boy, perhaps you could. Would it be fair, though? Love in earnest means marriage. Would you torment a poor woman, who\'s lost one husband, into wondering three-quarters of the time whether the scalp of another isn\'t in the hands of some villainous Apache?"

The unhappy lieutenant hid his face in heavy clouds of tobacco smoke.

"Well," said he, springing to his feet, and pacing the floor like a caged animal, "I\'ll tell you what I\'ll do; I\'ll write her, and throw my heart at her feet. Of course she won\'t care. It\'s just as you say. Why should she? But I\'ll do it, and then I\'ll go back to the regiment. I hate to spoil your fun, major, if it\'s any fun to you to have such a fool in your quarters; but the fact is, the enemy\'s too much for me. I wouldn\'t feel worse if I was facing a division. I\'ll write her to morrow. I\'d rather be refused by her than loved by any other woman."

"Put it off a fortnight, Fred," suggested the major; "it\'s the polite thing to call within a week after this party; you\'ll have a chance then to become better acquainted with her. She\'s delightful company, I\'m told. Perhaps you\'ll make up your mind it\'s better to enjoy her society, during our leave, than to throw away everything in a forlorn hope. Wait a fortnight, that\'s a sensible youth."

"I can\'t, major!" cried the excited boy. "Hang it! you\'re an old soldier—don\'t you know how infernally uncomfortable it is to stand still and be shot at?"

"I do, my boy," said the major, with considerable emphasis, and a far-away look at nothing in particular.

"Well, that\'ll be my fix as long as I stay here and keep quiet," replied the lieutenant.

"Wait a week, then," persisted the major. "You don\'t want to be \'guilty of conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman,\' eh? Don\'t spoil her first remembrances of the first freedom she\'s known for a couple of years."

"Well, call it a week, then," moodily replied the love-sick brave, lighting a candle, and moving toward his room. "I suppose it will take me a week, anyway, to make up a letter fit to send to such an angel."

The major sighed, put on an easy coat and slippers, and stepped into his garden.

"Poor Fred!" he muttered to himself, as he paced the walk in front of the piazza; "can\'t wait a fortnight, eh? Wonder what he would say if he knew I\'d been waiting for seven or eight years—if he knew I fell in love with her as easily as he did, and that I\'ve never recovered myself? Wonder what he\'d do if some one were to marry her almost before his very eyes, as poor Wittleday did while I was longing for her acquaintance? Wonder what sort of fool he\'d call me if he knew that I came to East Patten, time after time, just for a chance of looking at her—that I bought Rose Cottage merely to be near her—that I\'d kept it all to myself, and for a couple of years had felt younger at the thought that I might, perchance, win her after all? Poor Fred! And yet, why shouldn\'t she marry him?—women have done stranger things; and he\'s a great deal more attractive-looking than an old campaigner like myself............