"There is only one thing we can do, mother; that is go back to Sally's. The town will be protected."
"I want to go home!" sobbed Grandmother Willing, much as Emmeline had sobbed. "They might get out as far as our house, and they might do damage."
"The fighting is three miles from our house, mother."
When they reached their daughter's farm, Sally came running to meet them.
"Oh, I have been so worried about you! Get down, mother. Come in. Oh, this dreadful noise! Look, father!"
Old Mr. Willing's eyes followed her pointing finger. On the main road, a few rods from the farmhouse, thousands of soldiers were marching rapidly toward Gettysburg. Their line extended back for at least a mile. From the porch and windows of the farmhouse terrified faces watched them.
Grandmother Willing wept again.
"Perhaps our dear Henry is among them!"
"Henry, mother! Why, these are the rebels!"
"Oh, dear, Oh, dear!" wailed Grandmother Willing. "What shall we do?"