“Wimmins don’t fight,” said Tod, disbelievingly.
“Yes, they do; everybody does that kind of fighting. Don’t you know our Sabbath School hymn says,—
“‘I’m glad I’m in this army’?”
“Yes, but I thought it meant when we march Fourth of Julys and have flags and cannon and evewyfing.”
“Why, The-od-o-re Smith! I’m surprised! Don’t you know what fighting means, the Bible way? Suppose it’s time for you to go to bed and you don’t want to. It’s the ‘don’t want to’ you fight with, and if you beat and go straight along, just as aunty says, all pleasant, that’s being a conqueror; but if you don’t—”
“I’m weal hungwy, ain’t you?” interposed Tod. “Let’s go out and snowball so ’twill be supper-time quicker.”
Maybee was nothing loth, and after a nice frolic they sat down on the steps to rest and make snow images.
“Wouldn’t you like to be a sure-enough soldier?” asked Maybee, rolling up a tiny ball for a head.
“I’d wather be a cap’n or a gen’wal,” said Tod, “an wide a horse, and have folks say ‘Hurwah’!”
“Yes, but everybody can’t be generals, ’cause who’d carry the guns? And you know we can be ever so much greater.”