“That’s a fine idea. I’ll tell him that I can’t stay here, and that I’m going to enlist whether he says so or not. That’ll make him say yes, won’t it?”
“Why, of course; there’ll be nothing else for him to say.”
“Say, you are a pretty good girl,” said Wilfred, catching her hand impulsively. “I’ll go upstairs and write it now. You finish these as soon as you can. You can ask those women for some scissors, and when they are ready leave them in this closet, but don’t let any one see you doing it, whatever happens.”
“No, I won’t,” said Caroline, as Wilfred hurried off.
She went over to the room where the women were sewing, and borrowed a pair of scissors; then she came back and started to cut off the trousers where they were marked. The cloth was old and worn, but it was, nevertheless, stiff and hard, and her scissors were dull. Men spent their time in sharpening other things than women’s tools during those days in Richmond, and her slender fingers made hard work of the amputations. Beside, she was prone to stop and think and dream of her soldier boy while engaged in this congenial work. She had not finished the alteration, therefore, when she heard a step in the hall. She caught up the trousers, striving to conceal them, entirely forgetful of the jacket which lay on the table.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Varney, as she came into the room; “you haven’t gone yet?”
“No,” faltered the girl; “we don’t assemble for a little while, and——”
“Don’t assemble?”
“I mean for the party. It doesn’t begin for half an hour yet, and——”
“Oh; then you have plenty of time.”