That individual grimly responded: “Picket duty is a very cheerful way of passing one's time, but I guess you'll do.”
The picket line was twelve miles distant, and as the men got into line, the air and the excitement infused courage into Ralph's breast. They had been ordered out to relieve a regiment which had seen some hard work, and who were anxious to get into shelter.
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The newcomers were told what spots needed the most watching, and as soon as they were stationed at their posts and received the necessary instructions, they settled down to the importance of the duty assigned them.
The woods lay behind them, and each picket sought their friendly shelter, well aware that any “change of base” on their part would be an invitation to the enemy to pick them off.
Memories of home filled Ralph's breast. The night was dark and starless. A strong wind blew at intervals, now howling dismally through the trees, and then shifting its course, rushing down the bank, as if it would rend the earth and the tall grass in its anger.
“I wonder if mother thinks of her soldier boy,” he pondered.
When does a mother ever cease to think of and pray for her children?