“Why not, Colonel Carvel?” cried Maude. She had forgotten that one of her brothers was with the Yankees and Hessians.
“Why aren't women made generals and governors?” said the Colonel.
“If we were,” answered Virginia, “something might be accomplished.”
“Isn't Clarence enough of a fire-eater to suit you?” asked her father.
But the tents were pitched, and at that moment the young Captain was seen to hand over his horse to an orderly, and to come toward them. He was followed by George Catherwood.
“Come, Jinny,” cried her cousin, “let us go over to the main camp.”
“And walk on Davis Avenue,” said Virginia, flushing with pride. “Isn't there a Davis Avenue?”
“Yes, and a Lee Avenue, and a Beauregard Avenue,” said George, taking his sister's arm.
“We shall walk in them all,” said Virginia.
What a scene of animation it was. The rustling trees and the young grass of early May, and the two hundred and forty tents in lines of military precision. Up and down the grassy streets flowed the promenade, proud fathers and mothers, and sweethearts and sisters and wives in gala dress. Wear your bright gowns now, you devoted women. The day is coming when you will make them over and over again, or tear them to lint, to stanch the blood of these young men who wear their new gray so well.