"Where is the bugler of this camp?
It is high time for him to play taps." Ranald ran for his bugle, and the clear call that he had learned to play when he was "The Little Captain," in far-away Luzon, rang out into the dark woods.

It was answered by the same silvery notes.

Mrs.Walton and Miss Allison looked at each other in surprise, for the reply was no echo, but the call of a real bugle, somewhere not far away.
"Oh, we forgot to tell you, Aunt Mary," said Malcolm, noting the surprised glance, "It's a regiment of the State Guard, in camp over by Calkin's Cliff.

We boys were over there this morning.

They made a big fuss over us when they found that Ranald was General Walton's son and we were his nephews.