“They took a few chickens en passant,” she said, smiling; “but had they asked for them we would have been glad to give. We are loyal, you know.”
“Those gay jayhawkers were well disciplined for that business when Stannard took them over,” said the bandmaster grimly. “Had they behaved themselves, we should have had ten friends here where we have one now.”
The boy listened earnestly. “Would you please tell me,” he asked, “whether you have decided to have a battle pretty soon?”
“I don’t decide such matters,” said the bandmaster, laughing.
“Why, I thought a general could always have a battle when he wanted to!” insisted the boy, surprised.
“But I’m not a general, Billy,” replied the young fellow, coloring. “Did you think I was?”
“My brother’s ideas are very vague,” said his sister quickly; “any officer who fights is a general to him.”
“I’m sorry,” said the bandmaster, looking at the child, “but do you know, I am not even a fighting officer? I am only the regimental bandmaster, Billy—a noncombatant.”
For an instant the boy’s astonished disappointment crushed out his inbred courtesy as host. His sister, mortified but self-possessed, broke the strained silence with a quiet question or two concerning the newly arrived troops; and the bandmaster replied, looking at the boy.
Billy, silent, immersed in reflection, sat with curly head bent and hands folded on his knees. His sister glanced at him, looked furtively at the bandmaster, and their eyes met. He smiled, and she returned the smile; and he looked at Billy and smiled again.