“After Caraffi? Heaven forbid!”
“I bet you a dollar you could beat him at it!” said the colonel with fine loyalty.
His granddaughter laughed, taking his arm affectionately.
They walked down the quiet street thus, his fine white head towering over hers. The colonel was a tall old man, and he walked with the erectness of a soldier. He had run away at sixteen to be a drummer-boy in Lee’s army, and long afterward, as loyal to the Union as he had been active against it in his boyhood, he got his title in the Spanish war, fighting under General Wheeler. He had the military bearing still, and he sometimes saluted when he met one of the old neighbors trudging past him on the familiar street.
It was a pleasant street, where the quiet houses stood well back among the trees, and here and there white-clad figures rocked on the verandas. The elms arched beautifully overhead, the sunshine flickering through the close-leafed branches and falling in a shower of light in the center of the old, white road. It was peaceful, rural, and profoundly quiet. Virginia and the colonel, who loved it, counted six different kinds of birds.
“There’s a black-and-white warbler,” said Virginia. “Look, grandpa! It’s the first I’ve seen this year.”
“I love the old cardinal best,” the colonel replied. “There he is, right on Mrs. Payson’s magnolia. Hello, Jinny, isn’t that William Carter at the corner?”
Virginia, who had been looking at the warbler, started perceptibly. She even put her hand out quickly and caught at the nearest fence-paling, for she had long ago dropped the colonel’s arm. This was the first time she had seen William since his return, and the shock of it sent the color away from her face and brought it back with a rush. She was rosy when she looked around.
“He seems to be alone,” she said quietly.
The colonel nodded.