“They don’t go into details enough,” said Tom; “I want to know how the boys look, and what they’re saying.”
“New Market!” said Sairy. “All them children. I can’t get New Market out of my head.”
“I’ve been down to Three Oaks for a day,” spoke Christianna. “Mrs. Cleave wouldn’t talk about New Market, but it seemed like Miss Miriam couldn’t keep away from it. Lexington—an’ the cadets marchin’ at dawn—marchin’ with their white flag with Washington on it—marchin’ so trim down the Valley Pike—”
“Fawns fighting for the herd,” said Tom.
“An’ General Breckinridge welcomin’ them—an’ some troops that wanted to make fun singin’, ‘Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top’—an’ Sunday mornin’ comin’, an’ the battle—”
“And that was a hard field,” said Tom, “to plough on a Sunday morning.”
“Mrs. Cleave said that once before there was a Children’s Crusade an’ that no good came of it. She said that when the old began to kill the young Nature herself must be turning dizzy. An’ Miss Miriam read every paper an’ then lay there, lookin’ with her big, burnin’ eyes.”
Sairy rose, went into the kitchen, and returned with a pan of apples which she began to pare. The sun was over the shoulder of Thunder Run Mountain and in its heat and light the flowers in the garden smelled strongly, the mountain-head lay in a shimmering haze, and a pool of gold touched Christianna’s shoe. It was late in May, the Wilderness and Spottsylvania over—Cold Harbour not yet—in Georgia the armies lying about New Hope Church.
“Mother came up the mountain yesterday,” said Christianna.
“I hope she’s well?”