“And with me!” Feller whispered.  “You and I, with a brigade of infantry and guns—­” he began, but remembering his part, as he often would in the middle of a sentence since the distraction of war was in his mind, he turned to go.

“A cheer for the old gardener!  We don’t know who he is or was, and it’s none of our business.  He saved the day!” called Stransky.

Feller started; he paused and looked back as he heard that stentorian chorus in his honor; and, irresistibly, he made a snappy officer’s salute before starting on.

“That was very sweet to me,” he was thinking, and then:  “A mistake! a mistake!  One thought!  One duty!”

Making to pass around the corner of the house, he was confronted by Marta, who had come to the end of the veranda.  There, within hearing of the soldiers, the dialogue that followed was low-toned, and it was swift and palpitant with repressed emotion.

“Mr. Feller, I saw you at the automatic.  I heard what the wounded private of the Grays said to you and realized how true it was.”

“He is a prisoner.  He cannot tell.”

“Does he need to?  You have been seen—­the conspicuous figure of a man in gardener’s garb fighting on the very terrace of his own garden!  The Gray staff is bound to hear of such an extraordinary occurrence.  It is one of those stories that travel of themselves.  And Westerling will find that same gardener here when he comes!  What hope have you for your ruse, then?”

“I—­I—­no matter!  I forgot myself, when Lanny had warned me not to go near the guns.  My promise to him!  My duty!  I accept what I have prepared for myself—­that is a soldier’s code.”

“But I shall not let you risk your life in this fashion.”

“You—­” A searching look—­a look of fire—­from his eyes into hers, which were bright with appeal.

“I feel that I have no right to let you go to your death by a firing squad,” she interrupted hurriedly, “and I shall not!  For I decide now not to allow the telephone to remain!”

“But my chance—­my one chance to—­”

“You have it there—­happiness in the work you like, the work for which you seem to have been born—­at least, a better work than spying and deceit—­the right that you have won this morning there with the gun!”

“I”—­he looked around at the automatic ravenously and fearsomely—­“I—­”

“It is all simply arranged.  There is time for me to use the telephone before the Grays arrive.  I shall tell Lanny why you took charge of the gun and how you handled it, and I know he will want you to keep it.”

“And the uniform—­the uniform again!  Yes, the uniform—­if only a gunner private’s uniform!” he exclaimed in short, pulsating breaths of ecstasy.

“Yes, count on that, too!  And good-by!”

“Good-by!  I—­” But she had already turned away.  “I’ve changed my mind!  Exit gardener!  Enter gunner!  I’m going with you!  I’m going with you!” he cried in a jubilant voice that arrested the attention of every one on the grounds.  They saw him throw his arms around Stransky and then rush to the automatic.  “One thought!  One duty!  Oh, that is easy now!” he breathed, caressing the breech with a flutter of pats from both hands.