Early in June, Penhallow on his way to meet his partners paused at
McGregor's house to ask his opinion of his wife. "How do I find her?
Better every day—more herself. But what of you?"
"Of me? I can stand it no longer, Doctor. I cannot see this war in Virginia go on to the end without taking part in it. I must—do anything—anything—make any sacrifice."
"But your wife—the mills—"
"I have but one answer—my country! I told you I had refused Governor Curtin's offer—what to do about our contract I do not yet know. They are reorganizing the artillery service."
"And you would like that best?"
"Yes. What amuses you?"
The doctor smiled often, but as Mrs. Crocker said, when he did laugh it was as good as a Fourth of July celebration and the house shook. As the Squire watched him, the smile broadened out in circles from the mouth like the ripples cast by a stone on still water; then the eyes grew merrily busy and the big frame shook with laughter.
"Well, now, Squire! To give up making guns and go in for using them—well—well!"
"Don't chaff me, McGregor; I mean to be in it, cost what it may. I am to meet my partners—good-bye."
The doctor wondered what Ann Penhallow would do or say. It was past guessing but he saw clearly that Penhallow was glad of any excuse to get into the field.