Part 12 (1/2)

”Less than a thousand I think. Not overwhelming! But in an independent race it might hold the balance of power. We'll devise means to appeal to them; we must keep up all the fences, you see. A man who doesn't see to his fences is a mighty poor proposition as a farmer and--”

”Hicks was here this morning, Major dear, to talk about that very thing,”

said Mrs. Matilda as she came in just in time to catch the last of the major's remark. ”He says that ten hogs got through into the north pasture and rooted up acres of gra.s.s and if you don't get the new posts to repair the fence he can't answer for the damage done. He told you about it more than a month ago and--”

”David Kildare,” said the major with an enigmatical smile, ”what you need to see you through life is a wife. When a man mounts a high-horse aeroplane and goes sailing off, dimity is the best possible ballast.

Consider the matter I beg of you--don't be obdurate.”

”Why, of course David is going to marry some day,” answered Mrs. Matilda as she beamed upon them. ”A woman gets along nicely unmarried but it is cruel to a man. Major, Jeff is waiting to help you into your uniform. Do be careful, for it is mended to the last st.i.tch now and I don't see how it is going to hold together many more times.”

”Gray uniforms have held together a long time, Matilda,” answered the major softly as he took his departure.

”And we must all hurry and have lunch,” said Mrs. Buchanan. ”Phoebe and I want to be there in plenty of time to see the parade arrive. It always gives me a thrill to see the major ride up at the head of his company. I've never got over it all these years.”

”How 'bout that, Phoebe?” asked David, once more his daring insistent self. ”Seems it wasn't so young in me after all to think you might thrill a few glads to see me come prancing up. Now, will you be good?”

And it was only a little over two hours later that the parade moved on its way from the public square to the park. A goodly show they made and an interesting one, the grizzled old war-dogs in their faded uniforms with faces aglow under their tattered caps. They trudged along under their ragged banners in hearty good will, with now a limp and now a halt and all of them entirely out of step with the enthusiastic young band in its natty uniform. They called to one another, chaffed the mounted officers, sang when the spirit moved them and acted in every way like boys who were off on the great lark of their lives.

All along the line of march there were crowds to see them and cheer them, with here and there a white-haired woman who waved her handkerchief and smiled at them through a rain of tears.

The major rode at the head of a small and straggling division of cavalry whose men ambled along and guyed one another about the management of their green livery horses who were inclined to bunch and go wild with the music.

A few pieces of heavy artillery lumbered by next, and just behind them came three huge motor-cars packed and jammed with the old fellows who were too feeble to keep up with the procession. They were most of them from the Soldiers' Home and in spite of empty coat sleeves and crutches they bobbed up and down and waved their caps with enthusiasm as cheer after cheer rose whenever they came into sight.

Andrew Sevier stood at his study window and watched them go past, marching to the conflicting tunes of _The Bonnie Blue Flag_, played by the head band, and _Dixie_ by the following one. It was great to see them again after five years; and in such spirits! He felt a cheer rise to his lips and he wanted to open the window and give l.u.s.ty vent to it--but a keen pain caught it in his throat.

Always before he had ridden with David at the head of the division of the Confederacy's Sons, but to-day he stood behind the window and watched them go past him! There were men in those ranks who had slept in the ditches with his father, and to whom he had felt that his presence would be a reminder of an exceeding bitterness. The had quietly fought the acceptance of the statue offered by the daughter of Peters Brown from the beginning, but the granddaughter of General Darrah, who had led them at Chickamauga, must needs command their acceptance of a memorial to him and her mother.

And they would all do her honor after the unveiling. Andrew could almost see old General Clopton stand with bared head and feel the thrill with which the audience would listen to what would be a tender tribute to the war women. A wave of pa.s.sionate joy swelled up in his heart--he _wanted_ them to cheer her and love her and adopt her! It was her baptism into her heritage! And he gloried in it.

Then across his joy came a curious stifling depression--he found himself listening as if some one had called him, called for help. The music was dying away in the distance and the cheers became fainter and fainter until their echo seemed almost a sob. Before he had time to realize what he did he descended the stair, crossed the street and let himself into the Buchanan house.

He stood just within the library door and listened again. A profound stillness seemed to beat through the deserted rooms--then he saw her! She sat with her arms outspread across the table and her head bent upon a pile of papers. She was tensely still as if waiting for something to sound around her.

”Caroline!” It was the first time he had called her by her name and though the others had done it from the first, she had never seemed to notice his more formal address. It was beyond him to keep the tenderness that swept through every nerve out of his voice entirely.

”Yes,” she answered as she raised her head and looked at him, her eyes s.h.i.+ning dark in her white face, ”I know I'm a coward--did you come back to make me go? I thought they might not miss me until it was too late to come for me. I didn't think--I--could stand it--please--please!”

”You needn't go at all, dear,” he said as he took the cold hands in his and unclasped the wrung fingers. ”Why didn't you tell them? They wouldn't have insisted on your going.”

”I--I couldn't! I just could not say what I felt to--to--_them_. I wanted to come--the statue suggested itself--for her. I ought to have given it and gone back--back to my own life. I don't belong--there is something between them all and me. They love me and try to make me forget it and--”

”But, don't you see, child, that's just it? They love you so they hold you against all the other life you have had before. We're a strong love people down here--we claim our own!” A note in his voice brought Andrew to his senses. He let her hands slip from his and went around the table and sat down opposite to her. ”And so you ran away and hid?” He smiled at her rea.s.suringly.

”Yes. I knew I ought not to--then I heard the music and I couldn't look or listen. I--why, where did you come from? I thought you were in the parade with David. I felt--if you knew you would understand. I wished that I had asked you--had told you that I couldn't go. Did you come back for me?”

”No,” answered Andrew with a prayer in his heart for words to cover facts from the clear eyes fixed on his--clear, comforted young eyes that looked right down to the rock bed of his soul. ”You see the old boys rather upset me, too. I have been away so long--and so many of them are missing.

I'm just a coward, too--'birds of a feather'--take me under your wing, will you?”