“It was only a question of time,” he said. “I wish that I had begotten a dozen others.”
He had borrowed her well-marked Bible from old Mrs. Blankinship and read Isaiah at a gulp. Then he had sought out his boys and bantered them on their new clothes.
Margaret sat very still for a long time after the interview with her father. She knew that Bul, whom she loved best of her brothers, was going to be killed. She had never before seen his face so serenely happy as when he came to tell her that he had sworn in, nor had she ever before seen that unexplainable phenomenon, known variously as fate, doom, numbered, Nemesis, written upon a face. And there were others who might be taken.
Aladdin came in for a moment to give her the news. He was nervous with enthusiasm, and had been working like a horse. His regiment was to leave Friday for the front; he could stay but a minute; he had only dashed in on his way to drill. Would she care to come? Quite right; there was nothing much to look at. He talked as cheerfully and as rapidly as a mountain brook runs. And then he gave his best piece of news, and looked almost handsome as he gave it.
“Peter’s here,” he said. “He’s outside talking to the senator. He looks simply stunning, and he’s a whole lot of things on a staff—assistant adjutant-general with the rank of a colonel; and he’s floated up here on a dash against time to say good-by to us.”
Aladdin’s face puckered.
“You and Peter and I, Margaret,” he said, “Lord, what a muddle!”
“I’m terribly blue, old man,” said Margaret, “and it hurts to have you say things like that.”
Instantly Aladdin was all concern.
“You know I wouldn’t hurt you purposely,” he said, “but I’m terribly blue, too, dear, and one tries to keep up and says asinine things, and”—he smiled, and his smile was very winning—“is at once forgiven by an old dear.”