"Speak for yourself," Grace murmured.
But this time Betty would not yield, and insisted upon being heard.
"Please listen a minute, girls," she begged. "You know we've got a reputation, deserved or not, of being respectable—"
"Oh, what a mistake," interpolated Mollie.
"I said it might be a mistake," Betty continued patiently, although her eyes twinkled. "Anyway, we've got to live up to it—Goodness! just look at the boys. I guess the whole camp must be in the drill."
"Yes, I guess Sergeant Mullins was right when he said it was to be an exhibition drill," agreed Mollie, all fun temporarily swallowed up in a very real admiration of the spectacle before them.
"It's no wonder that Sergeant Mullins is considered a very important personage around here," added Amy.
"Oh, look!" cried Grace, as they sat down upon a convenient bench. "They've started. Oh, girls, I'm glad I came!"
Mutely the girls echoed the sentiment, and for the next hour they sat motionless, eyes and attention glued upon the magnificent spectacle of a thousand men, running, advancing, retreating, attacking, all in obedience to one great plan.
They forgot it was only a sham attack, an imitation battle, an exhibition drill. For the moment a curtain had been lifted and they were permitted to see something of the glory, the passion, the horror of democracy's struggle against the armed autocracy of the world.