“And the Governor,” said Dan, with a tremor in his voice as he thought of Betty.
“And Jack Morson,” added Champe, “he fell at Brandy Station when I was with him. At first he was wounded only slightly, and we tried to get him to the rear, but he laughed and went straight in again. It was a sabre cut that finished him at the last.”
“He was a first-rate chap,” commented Dan, “but I never knew exactly why Virginia fell in love with him.”
“The other fellow never does. To be quite candid, it is beyond my comprehension how a certain lady can prefer the infantry to the cavalry—yet she does emphatically.”
Dan coloured.
“Was grandpa well?” he inquired lamely.
With a laugh Champe flung one leg over the other, and clasped his knee.
“It's an ill wind that blows nobody good,” he responded. “Grandpa's thoughts are so much given to the Yankees that he has become actually angelic to the rest of us. By the way, do you know that Mr. Blake is in the army?”
“What?” cried Dan, aghast.
“Oh, I don't mean that he really carries a rifle—though he swears he would if he only had twenty years off his shoulders—but he has become our chaplain in young Chrysty's place, and the boys say there is more gun powder in his prayers than in our biggest battery.”