“General, General,” came again, “we need a drummer, and I want to fight them, too. I am a Trevellian; didn’t you know it?”
“There is no doubt of that, boy. Yes, go if you want to.” He turned to Trevellian:
“By the Eternal, Trevellian, how can the British expect to whip a people whose very children beg to go out and fight them?” He turned to the boy: “Yes—go, boy; go fight the invaders of your country, and God bless and preserve you!”
Pale, trembling and with a bursting heart which hated itself for her weakness, Juliette slipped away and into the house. From her own room she heard the huzzahs, the rattling volley of parting salute, and Trevellian’s command of “fall in!” She heard the soft tread if moccasined feet going into the wooded night. Then there was wafted faintly the uncouth, broken notes of a tune that somehow held together till it reached her:
“The girl I left behind me.”
She ran to the bed and buried her head in the pillow. Was she the girl he had left behind him? Would she ever see him again? He hated her now; she knew it, and yet she was so weak as to love him. Why did she not hate him also? Hate him as he deserved to be for—
The rattle of a kettle-drum burst into the music. Then cheers faint and far-off, but saying: “Hurrah for the drummer boy of the First Tennessee!”
She buried deeper her head and sobbed louder.
[To be continued.]