salute to service patriots gear

I passed on, flattered but scandalized, wasting no guesses on how she knew me--if she really knew me at all--but taking my revenge by moralizing on her, to myself, as a sign of the times, until brigade headquarters were in full view, a few rods off the road; four or five good, white wall-tents in a green bit of old field backed by a thicket of young pines.

"Yet what?" I snapped out, with horse eyes.

"We're going to get married, mamma, mamma;

"Hi! there goes one of them!--Halt!--Halt, you blue--" pop!--pop!--pop!

"No, not so easy; but those fellows are Arkansans, and they're in a bad humor with me."

"That will do. Now, beyond Fayette, about seven miles north, there's a place--"

"Don't you know?" I asked.

My whole nature was upheaved. You may smile, but my plight was awful. In the sultry night I grew cold. My bridle-hand, still lying under her palm, turned and folded its big stupid fingers over hers. Then our hands slid apart and we rode back. "I wish I were good enough to know the stars," she said, gazing up. "Tell me some of them."

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