“Better have them play you in—if you go,” said the officer.
The colonel saluted and backed his horse as the cavalcade swept past him; then he beckoned to the bandmaster.
“Here’s your chance,” he said. “Orders are to charge anything that appears on that road. You’ll play us in this time. Mount your men.”
Ten minutes later the regiment, band ahead, marched out of Sandy River and climbed the hill, halting in the road that passed the great white mansion. As the outposts moved forward they encountered a small boy on a pony, who swung his cap at them gayly as he rode. Squads, dismounted, engaged in tearing away the rail fences bordering the highway, looked around, shouting a cheery answer to his excited greeting; the colonel on a ridge to the east lowered his field glasses to watch him; the bandmaster saw him coming and smiled as the boy drew bridle beside him, saluting.
“If you’re not going to fight, why are you here?” asked the boy breathlessly.
“It really looks,” said the bandmaster, “as though we might fight, after all.”
“You, too?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then—could you come into the house—just a moment? My sister asked me to find you.”
A bright blush crept over the bandmaster’s sun-tanned cheeks.