My blooming bride appeared, accompanied by the colonel's bride, at the dancing-school next day. What? Was her face averted from me? Hah! Even so. With a look of scorn she put into my hand a bit of paper, and took another partner. On the paper was pencilled, "Heavens! Can I write the word? Is my husband a cow?"
In the first bewilderment of my heated brain, I tried to think what slanderer could have traced my family to the ignoble animal mentioned above. Vain were my endeavors. At the end of that dance I whispered the colonel to come into the cloak-room, and I showed him the note.
"There is a syllable wanting," said he, with a gloomy brow.
"Hah! What syllable?" was my inquiry.
"She asks, can she write the word? And no; you see she couldn't," said the colonel, pointing out the passage.
"And the word was?" said I.
"Cow—cow—coward," hissed the pirate-colonel in my ear, and gave me back the note.
Feeling that I must forever tread the earth a branded boy—person, I mean—or that I must clear up my honor, I demanded to be tried by a court-martial. The colonel admitted my right to be tried. Some difficulty was found in composing the court, on account of the Emperor of France's aunt refusing to let him come out. He was to be president. Ere yet we had appointed a substitute, he made his escape over the back wall, and stood among us, a free monarch.
The court was held on the grass by the pond. I recognized, in a certain admiral among my judges, my deadliest foe. A cocoanut had given rise to language that I could not brook; but confiding in my innocence, and also in the knowledge that the President of the United States (who sat next to him) owed me a knife, I braced myself for the ordeal.
It was a solemn spectacle, that court. Two executioners with pinafores reversed led me in. Under the shade of an umbrella I perceived my bride, supported by the bride of the pirate-colonel. The president, having reproved a little female ensign for tittering, on a matter of life or death, called upon me to plead, "Coward or no
