“Do you remember the battle there?”
The soldier looked doubtful. “We was there—I know that; yes, an’ we had a fight——”
“Yes—near a big white house.”
The soldier nodded. “I guess so; I don’t seem to place no big white house——”
She asked calmly: “Your regiment had a mounted band once?”
He brightened.
“Yes, sir-ee! They played us in at Sandy River—and they got into it, too, and was cut all to pieces!”
She motioned assent wearily; then, with an effort: “You don’t know, perhaps, where he—where their bandmaster was buried?”
“Sir?”
“The bandmaster of the Fourth Missouri? You remember him—that tall, thin young officer who led them with his sabre—who sat his horse like a colonel of regulars—and wore a cap of fur like—like a hussar of some militia State guard——”