rough changing shades to daytime clouds of
white. She wondered if the soldiers saw it, too. They were breaking
camp now, surely, for it was day. Still she swung on the gate and
dreamed, until a voice roused her.

"So Betty sleeps all night on the gate like a chicken on the fence." A
pair of long arms seized her and lifted her high in the air to a pair
of strong shoulders. Then she was tossed about and her cheeks rubbed
red against grandfather Clide's stubby beard, until she laughed aloud.
"What are you doing here on the gate?"

"I was watching the sky. I think God looked through and smiled, for
all at once it blossomed. Now the colors are gone."

Grandfather Clide set her gently on her feet and stood looking gravely
down on her for a moment. "So?" he said.

"The soldiers are striking camp over there, and then they are going to
march to the square, and then every one is to see them form and
salute--and then they are to march to the station, and--and--then--and
then I don't know what will be--I think glory."

Her grandfather shook his head, his thoughtful face half smiling and
half grave. He took her hand. "Come, we'll see what Jack and Jill are
up to." He led her to the pasture lot and the horses came and thrust
their heads over the fence and whinnied. "See? They want their oats."
Then Betty was lifted to old Jack's bare back and grandfather led him
by the forelock to the barn, while Jill followed after.

"Did Jack ever 'fall down and break his crown,' grandfather?"

"No, but he ran away once on a time."

"Oh, did Jill come running after?"

"That she did."

The sun had but just cast his first glance at High Knob, where the
camp was, and Mary Ballard was hastily whipping up batter for
pancakes, the simplest thing she could get for breakfast, as they were
to go early enough to see the "boys" at the camp before they formed
for their march to the town square. The children were to ride over in
the great carriage with grandfather and grandmother Clide, while
father and mother would take Bobby with them in the carryall. It was
an arrangement liked equally by the three small children and the
well-content grandparents.

Betty came to the house, clinging to her grandfather's hand. He drew
the large rocking-chair from the kitchen--where winter and summer it
occupied a place by the window, that Bertrand in his moments of rest
and leisure might sit and read the war news aloud to his wife as she
worked--out to a cool gra