“And then what did he do?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Harriot answered. “Nothing, I reckon. But Dr. Hardesty told everybody that it was Lee’s mother who kept him at home. That she was mighty sick and if he went away she’d surely die. The doctor said we ought to admire Lee for not deserting his mother.”
“I should have thought that would have satisfied April,” Dorothea suggested.
“Nothing would satisfy her except that he should go and fight,” answered Harriot. “But he wouldn’t, and we heard he had paid a substitute three hundred dollars. That was the last straw. It’s that sort of thing makes people say this is a ‘Rich man’s war but a poor man’s fight,’ and April cut him, on the steps of the church one Sunday morning, and she hasn’t spoken of him since. All the same she keeps thinking about him, or else why is she so queer?”
“I didn’t think she was queer,” Dorothea remarked after a moment’s pause.
“That’s because you don’t know how she used to be,” Harriot replied. “Before, she used to laugh all the time and—oh, I don’t know, but she wasn’t so dreadfully grown-up and we had lots of fun together. Now she acts just like she loved going to Mothers’ Meetings and sewing and all that kind of thing. You wouldn’t understand, ’cause you didn’t know her before, but I tell you she’s mighty changed.”
As if she had exhausted the topic of conversation Harriot snuggled down further under the covers and the first thing Dorothea knew her young cousin was fast asleep. Soon Dorothea herself drifted off into another nap, to be aroused a little later by hearing a soft puffing sound and a low-voiced humming in the room.
She lifted her head and there, before the fire, blowing it gently, was Lucy, her maid, singing softly to herself.
“Mary and Marthy feed ma lambs,
Feed ma lambs, feed ma lambs.