Mrs. Stewart remained in little Washington although she still talked of instant flight, and one day late in May she was visiting her sister-in-law and discussing the matter as if it were an entirely new subject.
“What I maintain,” she insisted, “is that there is no future for us here any longer. Even if we win the war, our good old Wilkes County families have been humiliated to the depths. I have seen my own child eat clabber from a cracked plate.” She looked about her, doubtless expecting groans from sympathetic relatives.
“Did it have cinnamon and sugar on it?” demanded Harriot. “Aunt Decent gives most of ours to the babies, but I just love it.”
They were interrupted at that moment by the sound of a horse trotting up the drive and Harriot ran out to see who it was.
“Oh, mother, here’s Hal!” she called, and a moment later the young man himself walked in.
He was lean and worn-looking and his mother gazed at him anxiously as she took him in her arms.
“You have bad news, I fear,” she murmured. “Is it your father?”
“You have heard from him since I have,” he answered quickly. “No, mother, there’s no personal misfortune to tell. All our kin have come through safely. Val Tracy has been made a Captain and is as well as you can expect. But I fear he’s hungry, or in love. He hasn’t been cheerful a minute since we left here.” He was striving to speak lightly, but his mother saw through the pretense.
“There is something troubling you, dear,” she insisted. “I can tell by your face that something is wrong.”
Hal shrugged his shoulders and half turned away.