He took the hat from his fine head and waved it to them smiling, then swiftly turned his horse’s head and rode away followed by his staff, amidst wild bursts of cheering.
A moment later, the children had broken into wild hurrahs, whips were cracking, and waggons streaking down the road in clouds of dust. Every one was waving hands and handkerchiefs to the men who rode away laughing in the morning sunshine.
“We cheered them forth,
Brilliant and gallant and brave.”
When all was over I saw Mrs Marriott walking listlessly away in the wake of her husband, who, now that the last groups were breaking up, had turned and was going towards his home. Some one near me remarked:
“It is too bad about poor Marriott—he almost begged on his knees to go, but Fitzgerald didn’t make any bones about telling him he would be no good. Of course it was quite true, but it doubled Marriott up like a knife between the ribs. I didn’t think he could feel like that still. Fitz might have been a little tenderer about it.”
The doctor slapped the speaker on the shoulders.
“My boy, there is nothing tender about war. That is why I am staying at home.”