"Tis a miracle if we do not have war," said Mr. Faringfield.
"I pray not," says my mother, who was a little less terrified than Mrs. Faringfield. "And I won't believe we shall, till I see it at our doors."
"Oh, don't speak of it!" cried Mrs. Faringfield, with a shudder.
"Why, ladies," says Philip, "'tis best to think of it as if 'twere surely coming, and so accustom the mind to endure its horrors. I shall teach my wife to do so." And he looked playfully over at Margaret.
"Why, what is it to me?" said Margaret. "Tis not like to come before we sail, and in England we shall be well out of it. Sure you don't think the rebels will cross the ocean and attack London?"
"Why, if war comes," said Phil, quietly, "we shall have to postpone our sailing."
"Postpone it!" she cried, in alarm. "Why? And how long?"
"Until the matter is settled one way or another."
"But it won't come before we sail. 'Tis only seven weeks. Whatever happens, they'll riddle away that much time first, in talk and preparation; they always do."
"But we must wait, my dear, till the question is decided whether there's to be war or peace. If we come round to the certainty of peace, which is doubtful, then of course there's naught to hinder us. But if there's war, why, we've no choice but to see it out before we leave the country."