"Do you know the next verse?"
"Yes," said McNeill.
| "He neither shall be clothed In purple nor in pall, But all in fair linen As are babies all!" |
"That's it," nodded the other. "And the next goes,—
| "He neither shall be rocked In silver nor in gold But in a wooden cradle That rocks on the mould—" |
Alternately they sang the carol through. The sun went down, but the pink stayed in the sky and was mirrored in a tranquil stream which they crossed. It faded at last into the quiet dusk. A cricket chirped from a field of dried Michaelmas daisies. They overtook and passed an infantry regiment, coming up, an officer told them, from Harper's Ferry. The night fell, cold and still, with many stars. "We are not far from Frederick," said Marchmont. "You were never here before?"
"No."
"I'll take you at once to General Banks. You go back to Kelly at Romney to-morrow."
"Just as soon as General Banks shall have answered General Kelly's letter."
"You have an occasional fight over there?"