“It’s downright wicked!” said old Mrs. Lancaster.
The minister went on with the service, raising his voice to make himself heard; but Don, and doubtless many others, had little thought for what was being said inside the church.
At the end of the service many of the people hurried past the soldiers on their way home; but others stood and watched with indignant glances.
That event was only one of many other irritations that followed and inflamed the hearts of the townsfolk.
“Aunt Martha, war has got to come,” said Don.
“Don’t speak of it, Donald,” she replied, and Don glanced once at his aunt’s face and wished that he had held his tongue in the first place; his aunt’s eyes were red and moist.
“All that cloth and powder is still in the cellar, isn’t it?” he asked a while later.
“Yes, Donald; and your uncle intends to keep it there until he can find a satisfactory way of getting it out, though what with all the trouble that surrounds us, I do believe that he doesn’t often give it a thought any more.”
“Seems too bad not to sell it,” said Don.
“Yes, I’ve said so myself, but he always nods and says, ‘Yes, that’s right,’ and then his mind goes wandering off on—on other matters.”