[CHAPTER II]
NEWS FROM GETTYSBURG
At the first line of the daring parody Rhett Bannister and his son both sprang to their feet, the one white with sudden rage, the other stricken with indignation and alarm. With one step the man reached the edge of the porch, with the next he was down on the path on his way to the gate, to give physical expression to his wrath. What would have happened in the road can only be conjectured, had not Bob’s frightened little mother run to the porch-steps and called to her husband:—
“Rhett, dear! Rhett, don’t! Don’t mind them. Come back, Rhett, dear!”
The angry man stopped in his headlong passage down the walk. There had never been a time in all his married life when the pleading voice of his wife had not been sufficient to check any outburst of passion on his part. Daring and defiant to all the world beside when occasion prompted him, he had always been as tender and gentle with her as in the days of their courtship. She was down at his side now, one hand on his arm, trying to soothe his outraged feelings.
“They’re mere boys, Rhett. They don’t know any better. Some day, when they’re older, they’ll regret it. And now you’ll have nothing to regret, Rhett, dear, nothing.”
Up from the road came a defiant shout:
“Hurrah for Abe Lincoln!”
“Down with the copperheads!”
But, even at the height of his rage, with the taunts and threats of his tormentors ringing in his ears, Rhett Bannister turned and took pity on his wife, and led her back to the porch with reassuring words. The unterrified boys, taking up again their line of march, turned into the crossroad on their way back to the village, singing:—