“So do I, father,” she sighed, “but it seems to me one of the very dreadful things about war is its sending so many to death with no time for preparation, and probably in the heat of passion with their foes.”
“That is true,” he said. “War is a dreadful thing; always very wicked on one side, if not on both. The Revolutionary War was right and commendable on the side of our forbears—resisting tyranny as they were—and we, their descendants, are reaping from it the rich fruit of freedom.”
“And it is rich fruit!” exclaimed Lucilla in joyous tones.
“Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrim’s pride,
From every mountain side
Let Freedom ring.”
“Sounds quite like Fourth of July, sis,” laughed a manly voice behind her, and turning she found Max standing there.
“Will three be as good company as two?” he asked, in the same lively tone in which he had spoken before.
“Better,” replied their father; “at least in this instance; and the porch is wide enough for three to walk abreast.”