“Yes, it has;” and Bob put her arm within Jeanne’s affectionately. “I am sure that I don’t blame you for wanting to see them. I don’t know why I say such mean things, Jeanne. I wish we didn’t quarrel.”
“Maybe we can’t help it,” answered Jeanne, pressing her arm.
“No; I suppose you can’t help being a Yankee,” said Bob, so dolefully that Jeanne laughed.
“I don’t want to,” she said. “I am not sorry that you are a Southerner, but I wish you were for the Union.”
“Well, I don’t, and so there we are! I suppose that there is just one thing to do,” and Bob nodded her head sagely, “and that is not to quarrel any more than we can help. When we do we’ll make up, won’t we?”
“Yes,” answered Jeanne. “We will.”
Once more the two were friends, and thus the days passed. October waned and soon rested with the other months of the dying year, and chill November reigned supreme. Still the order to move did not come. There was an uneasiness in the Colonel’s manner as his scouts brought in news each day that the country surrounding Jackson was filling up with Federals.
One morning a number of the companies of the regiment left the camp, and Bob confided to Jeanne the news that they expected to be in an engagement before they returned.
Jeanne, thrilled by the intelligence that she was so near to her own people, sat thoughtfully in front of the tent devoted to the use of the girls.
“Would it not be possible,” she wondered, “for me to join them? These people are kind and good, but would it not be much better for me to be with those of my own side? If I were with them they could send me to some place where it would be safe for me to take the cars for home. Father and mother must be so worried. I will see Colonel Peyton and ask him what he thinks of it,” she cried, springing to her feet.