Horace knew that there was little likelihood of changing the ideas of Aunt Abigail. Though kindly and generous at heart, in spite of her brusque ways, she belonged to that class of Americans which is honestly convinced that everything in the New World is progressive and sound and that everything in the Old World is backward and decaying.
"Did you say that the schoolmaster had gone to the war?" she asked.
"Yes, Aunt."
The old maid sniffed.
"More fool he," she said crisply; "he's old enough not to get romantic. What's going to be done with the school?"
"That's all been arranged," the boy replied, without explaining further, for he knew that his aunt would regard the master's action as "high-falutin and romantic."
"Well, you'd better get ready," she said sharply, "though I don't see how you can do much study with all the noise those forts are making. I should have thought they'd have had sense enough to build them farther away from where folks live."
"Aunt," said Horace, "suppose the Germans should take Beaufays?"
"Well, what about it?"
"If they burn the houses and steal everything and kill everybody and—"