But notwithstanding her hope and a country’s wish, the good old times were not at hand.
Pussy reached home and told the story. Baby went down plump into the wooden cradle at the first note of it, and set up a tune of rejoicing in his own fashion which no one regarded. Brother Benjamin, aged thirteen, whistled furiously, regardless of the honors of the day. Sammy, who was ten, clapped his hands and knocked his heels together, first in joy, and then began to fear lest 72 the war should be over before he grew big enough to be in it.
“Mother,” said Pussy, a few minutes later, “let Benny come with me to tell Mr. Gale about it; may he?”
Pussy laid aside her Sunday bonnet, tied a straw hat over her ears with a silk kerchief to keep out the wind, and in three minutes got Benny into the highway.
“See here, Ben, I’m going to light a fire on Baldhead to tell all the folks together about it, and I want you to help me; quick, before it gets dark.”
“You can’t gather fagots,” responded Ben.
Yes, she could, and would, and did, while Benny went to the house nearest to Baldhead to ask for some fire in a kettle.
The two worked with such vigor and will that the first gathering of darkness saw the light of the beacon-flame burst forth, and the great March wind blew it into fiercest glow. Every eye that saw the fire there knew that it had been kindled with a purpose, and many feet from house and hamlet set forth to learn the cause.
While Pussy and Ben were yet adding fagots to the fire, they heard a voice crying out: “The young rascals shall be punished soundly for this,” and ere Pussy had time to explain or expostulate, a strong man had Ben in his grasp.
“Stop that, sir!” cried the girl, rushing to the rescue with a burning fagot that she had seized 73 from the fire, and shaking it full in the assailant’s face.