he cavalry arrived, riding slowly up the tree-shaded
street, escorted by every darky and every dog in the country-side.

The clothing of this regiment was a little out of the ordinary. Instead
of the usual campaign head gear the troopers wore forage caps strapped
under their chins, heavy visors turned down, and their officers were
conspicuous in fur-trimmed hussar tunics slung from the shoulders of
dark-blue shell jackets; but most unusual and most interesting of all, a
mounted cavalry band rode ahead, led by a bandmaster who sat his horse
like a colonel of regulars--a slim young man with considerable yellow
and gold on his faded blue sleeves, and an easy manner of swinging
forward his heavy cut-and-thrust sabre as he guided the column through
the metropolitan labyrinths of Sandy River.

Sandy River had seen and scowled at Yankee cavalry before, but never
before had the inhabitants had an opportunity to ignore a mounted band
and bandmaster. There was, of course, no cheering; a handkerchief
fluttered from a gallery here and there, but Sandy River was loyal only
in spots, and the cavalry pressed past groups of silent people,
encountering the averted heads or scornful eyes of young girls and the
cold hatred in the faces of gray-haired gentlewomen, who turned their
backs as the ragged guidons bobbed past and the village street rang with
the clink-clank of scabbards and rattle of Spencer carbines.

But there was a small boy on a pony who sat entranced as the
weather-ravaged squadrons trampled by. Cap in hand, straight in his
saddle, he saluted the passing flag; a sunburnt trooper called out:
"That's right, son! Bully for you!"

The boy turned his pony and raced along the column under a running fire
of approving chaff from the men, until he came abreast of the bandmaster
once more, at whom he stared with fascinated and uncloyed satisfaction.

Into a broad common wheeled the cavalry; the boy followed on his pony,
guiding the little beast in among the mounted men, edging as close as
possible to the bandmaster, who had drawn bridle and wheeled his showy
horse abreast of a group of officers. When the boy had crowded up as
close as possible to the bandmaster he sat in silence, blissfully
drinking in the splendors of that warrior's dusty apparel.

"I'm right glad you-all have come," ventured the boy.

The bandmaster swung round in his saddle and saw a small sun-tanned face
and two wide eyes intently fixed on his.

"I reckon