"Read this and see for yourself," the General replied, extending May's journal.
Sarah took the leather-bound book and read it through without comment.
"Well," said the General, impatiently, "what do you think of it? Have you ever known such duplicity?"
"No duplicity about it," Sarah said, contrary-minded, as usual. "These children went into it for a 'lark,' as Gay—May, I mean—says here. Just think of that dear little girl drilling, putting out fires, keeping up during that Brentwood scrape, and pulling that boy out of the pond! I declare, when I think of that Philip, I'd like to shake him. If our child is a girl, she is the pluckiest one I have ever seen!"
"Sarah!" said the General, weakly, "you are the most inconsistent woman I have ever known."
"You haven't known women enough to be able to judge of my inconsistency," Sarah rejoined, dryly.
"I shall write to their father and to Hazelnook to-night," said the General, glad to change the subject.
"If you've a grain of sense you'll do nothing of the sort," Sarah exclaimed. "Those children kept quiet that their mother might not be troubled, and you mustn't break up all their plans."
"I will take Gay, or May, or whichever it is, down to Hazelnook to-morrow, and straighten out matters there," said the General.