“Clarence, we are proud of you, sir,” he says.
And Virginia, repeats his words, her eyes sparkling, her fingers caressing the silken curve of Jefferson's neck.
“Clarence, you will drive Captain Lyon and his Hessians into the river.”
“Hush, Jinny,” he answered, “we are merely going into camp to learn to drill, that we may be ready to defend the state when the time comes.”
Virginia laughed. “I had forgotten,” she said.
“You will have your cousin court-martialed, my dear,” said the Colonel.
Just then the call is sounded. But he must needs press Virginia's hand first, and allow admiring Maude and Eugenie to press his. Then he goes off at a slow canter to join his dragoons, waving his glove at them, and turning to give the sharp order, “Attention”! to his squadron.
Virginia is deliriously happy. Once more she has swept from her heart every vestige of doubt. Now is Clarence the man she can admire. Chosen unanimously captain of the Squadron but a few days since, Clarence had taken command like a veteran. George Catherwood and Maurice had told the story.
And now at last the city is to shake off the dust of the North. “On to Camp Jackson!” was the cry. The bands are started, the general and staff begin to move, and the column swings into the Olive Street road, followed by a concourse of citizens awheel and afoot, the horse cars crowded. Virginia and Maude and the Colonel in the Carvel carriage, and behind Ned, on the box, is their luncheon in a hamper Standing up, the girls can just see the nodding plumes of the dragoons far to the front.
Olive Street, now paved with hot granite and disfigured by trolley wires, was a country road then. Green trees took the place of crowded rows of houses and stores, and little “bob-tail” yellow cars were drawn by plodding mules to an inclosure in a timbered valley, surrounded by a board fence, known as Lindell Grove. It was then a resort, a picnic ground, what is now covered by close residences which have long shown the wear of time.