Joe hurried on. "Jack Stone's sick. Earache—both ears—onions on' em—here's his cap—who'll know you're not a boy?—tuck up your skirts—on with this big cape—come!"
Elsie was beside herself. "Mother wouldn't let me," she half gasped.
"Did she ever say you mustn't?" argued Joe. "Like as not we'll be back before she is. Don't be a goose. There's no time to talk. Hurry! hurry! You won't get such another chance."
Her eyes flashing, her brain in a whirl, Elsie pulled the blue cap over her short curls. Her little petticoats were quickly pinned up and covered by the rubber cape. With her unlighted torch over her shoulder, who would not have thought her a sturdy younger brother of the boy who held her tightly by the hand, and exhorted her not to let the grass grow under her feet.
Down the road they flew, and reached the station just as the "Continentals" came marching up with fife and drum.
"Here we are, Mr. Hill," said Joe, presenting himself and his companion.
"All right," said Mr. Hill, too busy to pay much attention. "Keep with the rest of the men. How are you, Jack, my boy?"
There was no time for the make-believe "Jack, my boy" to answer. The engine was puffing and panting. Elsie was swung on the train, where Joe and she tucked themselves away on a back seat.
The "Continentals" were in the best of humor, so were the "Philbrick Pioneers," who, gorgeous in their Zouave regimentals, came crowding into the car at the next station, to crack jokes and talk politics.
"Well done, little chaps," said their captain, spying out Joe and his comrade. "You're beginning early, eh? Nothing like getting the boys on the right side. Ha! ha!"