"No, it is past," murmured our mother, trying to smile, as we all turned to her. "God bless and keep you, my boy. I expected you to enlist; you could not do otherwise, and now," stifling a sigh, "I must think of your outfit, and you must take a servant too. I wonder which will be best."
"A private with a servant seems an anomaly," laughingly said Harry. "But I believe several of the boys have men, and anything to ease your mind, mother dear."
"Our minds must learn to do without ease, as well as our bodies, I fear, in the days that lie before us," she answered, stroking his curly head as he knelt by her chair; "but we must act, and not think now."
The days that followed were busy ones. The difficulty was not what was needed, but what could be carried. It was an exciting novelty to pack a knapsack, and its small capacity was a constant check to our zeal. Harry's constant reminder, "I will have to march with that on my back, nobody knows how far," brought a pang to our hearts. It was decided that he should take a "body-servant"—the old-fashioned Southern rendering of the French term "valet." After much deliberation and, I fear, heart burning among the servants, for in this, as in other instances, the post of danger was also that of honor, Kent was selected, much to his own and his mother's gratification.
The day appointed for the company to which Harry belonged to join the Legion in Virginia came all too soon. He shouldered his knapsack, and tore himself from us, followed by his colored attendant, with whom we all shook hands and whom we urged to "take care of Mas' Harry."
"Yes, Missus," he responded, looking preternaturally solemn.
Of course Harry left a great gap behind him, but we tried to excel each other in efforts at cheerfulness, and bright prognostications as to his future career as a soldier. We succeeded only tolerably in these laudable efforts, when Martha waddled in—she was our cook, and a decided character in her way. I believe, next to our mother, she thought herself of first importance among the feminine part of the household. She gave a keen glance at our mother, whom she idolized.
"Well, Missus," she said, dropping a little curtsy, "I come to see how you gettin' on. You all looks pretty blue, but I 'clare to gracious there's no 'casion to fret. Nuttin' gwine to hu't Mas' Harry w'en Kent gone to tak' care ov him. Missus, you dunno how smart dat boy is; an' I jus' tell him, 'Mas' Harry tinks he's a man and a soger, but you know he ain't nuttin' but a baby, an' a ma-baby at dat.' An' I jus' tell him he need not to come home if he let anyt'ing hu't Mas' Harry. So don't you fret, Missus."
"But how could Kent prevent Harry's being wounded or hurt, Martha?" I asked.
"Now, Miss Sallie, don't you go for to talk nonsense," responded the old woman. "An' your ma always says w'ere dere is a will dere is a way. Well, dat's what I tells Kent, an' I tells Affy, de gal he's courtin', it's no use for she to fret, fur 'less Kent brings Mas' Harry back safe, dere won't be no weddin' fur him."