The man on the blue sofa was Tom Trask, and the girl was a stranger to her; small and delicately formed, with a beautiful cameo face and shining red hair. Under their scrutiny Tom stood up. Some men would have been embarrassed, but not he. He scooped the girl to her feet and led her forward.
“Well,” he greeted them, “so it’s Kit herself, and Private Malory. I’d like you to meet Jeanie Morrison.” He looked down at the red-haired girl, and there was a tender merriment in his eye.
“I kissed with all the girls some,” he continued. “But I always knew I’d marry Jean.”
“Listen to the man!” trilled Jeanie. She gave him an enchanting smile that showed a dimple in her cheek.
“Jeanie come down from Derryfield with my wife a few days back,” explained the colonel, sensing some tension in the air he could not understand. “She came to see Tom and bring him his gun. A Brown Bess, British made, one of the best guns in the army.”
“Aye,” said Tom mockingly. “I got my own gun. You can have your blunderbuss back, Kitty. I’ll bring it to the hospital tomorrow.”
“Don’t bother,” said Kitty, but Gerry’s eyes lighted.
“Is there any way we could get it tonight?” he asked.
Kitty knew what he was thinking, and she saw the rightness of it. He meant to go to Plymouth, armed with the Plymouth blunderbuss.
Tom shrugged, “If you want it that bad,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I brought it with me. You’ll find it standing among the lilacs to the right of the front door.”