As the soldiers passed, they advised Mrs. Schmidt in a friendly way to tie her children in, at which Mrs. Schmidt at once began to crane her neck backward to count her offspring. The soldiers seemed as gay as if they were on a journey of pleasure. Riding from house to house, they rapped on the doors with their swords; their petted horses sometimes put their noses in at the windows. The soldiers ordered people to stay in their cellars. If only Emmeline could stay in a cellar—an adventure in itself unspeakably delightful.
"Ach, Emmy," cried Mrs. Schmidt, "will we ever get to your gran'pop and my brother?"
"I hope not," answered Emmeline, at which cryptic remark Mrs. Schmidt sank into silent gloom.
Just before they reached the Evergreen Cemetery, with its tall pine trees, Mrs. Schmidt turned old Whitey aside, and drove into a country road that ran between pleasant fields. Some were cultivated, and others were carpeted with daisies; on all the fences wild roses bloomed. It was now eight o'clock, and the July sun shone hotter and hotter. Mrs. Schmidt panted, and grew red in the face, and tried to fan herself with her old sunbonnet.
At any other time Emmeline would have enjoyed the excursion. Before her, but still several miles away, the two Round Tops rose against the hazy horizon. The Emmitsburg Road which they traveled lay between two long ridges of varying height, named Cemetery Ridge and Seminary Ridge. Presently they would turn to the west, and cross Seminary Ridge. Beyond it, about half a mile, lay Emmeline's grandfather's farm, where she was always welcomed with great joy, and where there was good fishing, and a little calf, and a litter of new kittens, and the companionship of a venturesome girl, Ellen Watson by name, from the next farm.
But Emmeline did not want to go to Round Top, and she did not care to see the kittens and the calf; she wanted to stay in Gettysburg. Eliza Batterson would stay, and would have a hundred boastful things to tell her. It was bitterly disappointing to be sent away. If Bertha had not been there to be taken care of she might have stayed. She agreed with Mrs. Bannon that Bertha could rise if she would.
The little Schmidts made no sound on the journey. Terrified by their mother's fright, they huddled in their various uncomfortable positions in the body of the wagon. Once Emmeline, hearing a gentle whimper, looked round, and saw that a chair had fallen upon Betsy, and that she looked out from between the rungs as if from a cage. Scrambling back to rescue her, Emmeline observed a long line of wagons like their own coming from Gettysburg.
Giving the sleeping Carl to his mother, Emmeline now took the reins herself, and in the pleasure of managing old Whitey forgot that she was an aggrieved and disappointed person. She clucked sharply to him and switched him with the reins. When all methods of hurrying his lagging gait proved futile, she proposed that she and the older children should walk, and thus relieve him for a while of their weight. Only Mrs. Schmidt remained in the cart, with Carl in her arms.
"We are emigrants," said Emmeline, forgetting her disappointment for a moment. "We are emigrants marching o'er the plains. We—"
Then Emmeline stopped, and all the little Schmidts stopped, and old Whitey lifted his head.