“De berry same, Miss.”
“Well, then, of course he’ll come. He is an old, old friend of Miss Julia’s. I met him on the train when we came down and he asked me to invite him out some time,” and so Courage wrote a note of invitation that very day which Joe, with his own hands, carried into Washington. It was written on pretty blue paper, which had “Homespun” engraved at the top of the sheet and Tiffany’s mark on the envelope as well. It must be confessed that Courage had a little extravagant streak in her; that is, she loved to have everything just about as nearly right as she could. Sister Julia had encouraged the little streak, knowing the peculiar pleasure that the reasonable indulgence of a refined taste brings into life, “but, dear,” she had often said to Courage, “there is one thing to look out for, and that is that the more you gratify your own taste the more you must give to the people who have no taste at all, or very little of anything that makes life enjoyable,” all of which good advice Courage had taken to heart and remembered. But extravagant streak or no, the stylish little blue note accomplished its purpose, for at precisely nine o’clock the next morning Colonel Anderson wheeled up at Joe’s cabin, in his high, old-fashioned carriage, and at almost the same moment arrived the Homespun buckboard with its load of eight (for Sylvia and Mary Duff were to be in as many good times as possible) and a moment later Grandma Ellis, Harry, Brevet and old Mammy drove upon the scene.
“Now, how would we best manage things, Joe?” asked Colonel Anderson, after everybody had had a. little chat with everybody else, and luncheon baskets and wraps had been safely stowed away in Joe’s cabin.
“Well, seems ter me we’d better take a look over de house first, den take a stroll through de groun’s an’ come back to de shade of dat ol’ ches’nut yonder for de story. You can’t make a story bery interestin’ when you hab a walkin’ aujence, an’ de aujence what’s walkin’ can’t catch on ter de story bery well either.”
It was easy to see that this suggestion was a wise one, so with the exception of Grandma Ellis and Mammy, for whom comfortable rocking-chairs were at once placed under the chestnut tree, the little party made its way into the old colonial house.
“Arlington House is rather a cheerless looking place now, I admit,” sighed Colonel Anderson, as they walked through the large empty rooms, “but wait till we have the story and we’ll fill it full enough.”
“Yes, but don’t let us wait any longer than we have to,” answered Courage, and as this was the sentiment of the entire party, they hurried from the house for the walk that was to follow. The four little Bennetts kept close to each other all the way, Mary, the eldest, leading little Gertrude by the hand. They were very quiet, too, wondering and overawed by the unbroken lines of graves on every side.
“I wonder if Teddy and I will have to go to a war when we grow up,” said Allan at last, half under his breath, with a perceptible little shiver and as though barely mustering courage to speak.
“We’ll go if there is a war, I can tell you that,” Teddy replied, rather scornfully.
“Then we’ll be buried here, I suppose,” and Allan shook his head hopelessly, as though standing that moment at the foot of their two soldier-graves.