r bound about with firm braid, and tucked
under the strap of the leather on the inside was a small pair of
scissors. It was all very compact and tied about with the braid.
Mother had done some of the hardest of the sewing, but for the most
part the stitches had been painstakingly put in by the children's own
fingers.

The morning was cool, and the dust had been laid by a heavy shower in
the night. The horses held up their heads and went swiftly, in spite
of their long journey the day before. Soon they heard in the distance
the sound of the drum, and the merry note of a fife. Again a pang shot
through Betty's heart that she had not been a boy of Peter Junior's
age that she might go to war. She heaved a deep sigh and looked up in
her grandfather's face. It was a grizzled face, with blue eyes that
shot a kindly glance sideways at her as if he understood.

When they drew near, the horses danced to the merry tune, as if they
would like to go, too. All the camp seemed alive. How splendid the
soldiers looked in their blue uniforms, their guns flashing in the
sun! Betty watched how their legs with the stripes on them seemed to
twinkle as they moved all together, marching in companies. Back and
forth, back and forth, they went, and the orders came to the children
short and abrupt, as the men went through their maneuvers. They saw
the sentinel pacing up and down, and wondered why he did it instead of
marching with the other men. All these questions were saved up to ask
of grandfather when they got home. They were too interested to do
anything but watch now.

At last, very suddenly it seemed, the soldiers broke ranks and
scattered over the greensward, running hither and thither like ants.
Betty again drew a long breath. Now they were coming, the soldiers in
whom they were particularly interested.

"Can they do what they please now?" she asked her grandfather.

"Yes, for a while."

All along the sentry line carriages were drawn up, for this hour from
eight till nine was given to the "boys" to see their friends for the
last time in many months, maybe years, maybe forever. As they had come
from all over the State, some had no friends to meet them, but guests
were there in crowds, and every man might receive a handshake whether
he was known or not. All were friends to these young volunteers.

Bertrand Ballard was known and loved by all the youths. Some from the
village, and others from the country around, had been in the way o