"Very well, too, I suppose. I haven't asked. You've got a fine, tall company!"
Cleave, turning, regarded his men with almost a love-light in his eyes. "By God, Fauquier, we'll win if stock can do it! It's going to make a legend—this army!"
"I believe that you are right. When you were a boy you used to dream artillery."
"I dream it still. Sooner or later, by hook or by crook, I'll get into that arm. It wasn't feasible this spring."
His cousin looked at him with the affection, half humorous and wholly tender, with which he regarded most of his belongings in life. "I always liked you, Richard. Now don't you go get killed in this unnatural war! The South's going to need every good man she's got—and more beside! Where is Will?"
"In the 2d. I wanted him nearer me, but 'twould have broken his heart to leave his company. Edward is with the Rifles?"
"Yes, adding lustre to the ranks. I came upon him yesterday cutting wood for his mess. 'Why don't you make Jeames cut the wood?' I asked. 'Why,' said he, 'you see it hurts his pride—and, beside, some one must cook. Jeames cooks.'" Cary laughed. "I left him getting up his load and hurrying off to roll call. Phœbus Apollo swincking for Mars!—I was at Greenwood the other day. They all sent you their love."
A colour came into Cleave's dark cheek. "Thank them for me when you write. Only the ladies are there?"
"Yes. I told them it had the air of a Spanish nunnery. Maury Stafford is with Magruder on the Peninsula."
"Yes."