said in the hallway. If a son of mine thinks it his
duty to go, I shall never say one word to dissuade him--if he thinks it
is his duty," she added, so solemnly that silence fell upon the three,
and with a smothered, "Good Lawd," at the door, Ben hurried again into
the kitchen.

"Both them boys was a-goin' off to git killed an' ole Miss Rachel not
sayin' one wud to keep 'em back--not a wud."

After breakfast the boy hurried out and, as Crittenden rose, the
mother, who pretended to be arranging silver at the old sideboard, spoke
with her back to him.

"Think it over, son. I can't see that you should go, but if you think
you ought, I shall have nothing to say. Have you made up your mind?"

Crittenden hesitated.

"Not quite."

"Think it over very carefully, then--please--for my sake." Her voice
trembled, and, with a pang, Crittenden thought of the suffering she had
known from one war. Basil's way was clear, and he could never ask the
boy to give up to him because he was the elder. Was it fair to his brave
mother for him to go, too--was it right?

"Yes mother," he said, soberly.

III

The Legion came next morning and pitched camp in a woodland of oak and
sugar trees, where was to be voiced a patriotic welcome by a great
editor, a great orator, and young Crittenden.

Before noon, company streets were laid out and lined with tents and,
when the first buggies and rockaways began to roll in from the country,
every boy-soldier was brushed and burnished to defy the stare of
inspection and to quite dazzle the eye of masculine envy or feminine
admiration.

In the centre of the woodland was a big auditorium, where the speaking
was to take place. After the orators were done, there was to be a
regimental review in the bluegrass pasture in front of historic Ashland.
It was at the Colonel's tent, where Crittenden went to pay his respects,
that he found Judith Page, and he stopped for a moment under an oak,
taking in the gay party of women and officers who sat and stood about
the entrance. In the centre of the group stood a lieutenant in the blue
of a regular and with the crossed sabres of the cavalryman on his
neck-band and the number of his regiment. The girl was talking to the
gallant old Colonel with her back to Crittenden, but he would have known
her had he seen but an arm, a shoulder, the poise of her head, a single
gesture--although he had not seen her for years. The figure was the
same--a little fuller, per