Mrs. Meadows, before she thought, glanced at Callie. The girl winced, for she hated to be looked at like that. She held up her head and began to sing audaciously, drumming with her fingers on the table:—
"'When my mother comes to know
That I love the soldiers so,
She will lock me up all day,
Till the soldiers march away.'"
"What sort of a song is that?" asked her father sharply.
Callie looked him in the eyes. "Don't you know that tune?" said she. "Henniker plays that at guard-mount; and sometimes he plays this:—
'Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad,
Though father and mither and a' should go mad.'"
"Let him play what he likes," said the father angrily. "His saucy jig tunes are nothing to us. I'm thankful no girl of mine is following after the army. It's a hard life for a woman, I can tell you, in the ranks."
Callie pushed her chair back, and looked out of the window as if she had not heard.
"Where's Meta with that lamp? Go and see what's keeping her."
"Sit still," said Mrs. Meadows. She went herself into the kitchen, but no one heard her speak a word; yet the kitchen was not empty.
There was a calico-covered lounge that stood across the end of the room; Meta sat there, quite still, her back against the wall. Mrs. Meadows took one look at her; then she lighted the lamp and carried it into the dining-room, and went back and shut herself in with Meta.