ans of 1812 and the Indian wars, the one-legged cobbler stumping
along beside General Trumble, who looked very dejected and old. The
lines stood in silence, and responded to the cheering by quietly
removing their hats; so that the people whispered that it was more
like an Odd Fellows' Sunday funeral than the departure of enthusiastic
patriots for the seat of war. General Trumble's was not the only sad
face in the ranks; all were downcast and nervous, even those of the
lads from the country, who had not known the comrade they were to leave
behind.

Jefferson unfurled the flag; Marsh gave the word of command, the band
began to play a quick-step, and the procession moved forward down the
cheering lane of people, who waved little flags and handkerchiefs
and threw their hats in the air as they shouted. But, contrary to
expectation, the parade was not directly along Main Street to the river.
"Right wheel! March!" commanded Tappingham, hoarsely, waving his sword,
and Jefferson led the way into Carewe Street.

"For God's sake, don't cry now!" and Tappingham, with a large drop
streaking down his own cheek, turned savagely upon Lieutenant Cummings.
"That isn't what he wants. He wants to see us looking cheery and
smiling. We can do it for him this once, I guess! I never saw him any
other way."

"You look damn smiling yourself!" snuffled Will.

"I will when we turn in at the gates," retorted his Captain. "On my
soul, I swear I'll kill every sniffling idiot that doesn't!--In line,
there!" he stormed ferociously at a big recruit.

The lively strains of the band and the shouting of the people grew
louder and louder in the room where Crailey lay. His eyes glistened as
he heard, and he smiled, not the old smile of the worldly prelate, but
merrily, like a child when music is heard. The room was darkened, save
for the light of the one window which fell softly upon his head and
breast and upon another fair head close to his, where Fanchon knelt. In
the shadows at one end of the room were Miss Betty and Mrs. Tanberry and
Mrs. Bareaud and the white-haired doctor who had said, "Let him have
his own way in all he asks." Tom stood alone, close by the head of the
couch.

"Hail to the band!" Crailey chuckled, softly. "How the rogues keep the
time! It's 'Rosin the Bow,' all right! Ah, that is as it should be. Mrs.
Tanberry, you and I have one thing in common, if you'll let me flatter
myself so far: we've always believed in good cheer in spi