The sun was sinking behind the trees in scarlet and purple glory. His father strolled thoughtfully across the lawn with one arm around Zonia and Marya’s hand clasped in his.
As the car turned into the drive and swept toward the house, the girls saw him and rushed with cries of joy to smother him with kisses.
“Our men are ready?” his father asked gravely.
“To die—yes—they are as ready as they can be without drill or quipment—or artillery to defend them.”
The old man shook his head.
“And the enemy—they are many?”
“A hundred and sixty thousand hardened veterans and the most magnificent equipment of the modern world—”
Old Andrew Vassar lifted his hands in a gesture of pain.
“God help us!”