“Yes, sir, it is,” replied Harry, as he joined the others in the song:
“The hour was sad, I left the maid
A lingering farewell taking,
Her sighs and tears my steps delayed
I thought her heart was breaking.
“In hurried words her name I blessed,
I breathed the vows that bind me,
And to my heart in anguish pressed
The girl I left behind me.”
Most all the officers had leave for the full day. Harry and Dalton in fact were to stay overnight at the house, and, forgetful of the war, they sang one song after another as the evening waned. At nine o’clock all the guests left save Harry and Dalton.
“You and Langdon will show them to their bedrooms,” said Colonel Talbot. “Take the candle. The rest of us can sit here by the firelight.”
There was but a single candle, and it was already burning low, but Happy Tom and Arthur, shielding it from draughts, led the way to the second floor.
“Most of the houses were demolished by cannon shot and fire,” said Langdon, “but we’ve a habitable room which we reserve for guests of high degree. You will note here where a cannon shot, the result of plunging fire, came slantingly through the roof and passed out at the wall on the other side. You need not get under that hole if it should rain or snow, and meanwhile it serves splendidly for ventilation. The rip in the wall serves the same purpose, and, of course, you have too much sense to fall through it. Some blankets are spread there in the corner, and as you have your heavy cloaks with you, you ought to make out. Sorry we can’t treat you any better, Sir Harry of Kentucky and Sir George of Virginia, but these be distressful times, and the best the castle affords is put at your service.”
“And I suspect that it’s really the best,” said Harry to Dalton, as St. Clair and Langdon went out. “There’s straw under these blankets, George, and we’ve got a real bed.”
The moonlight shone through two windows and the cannon-shot hole, and it was bright in the room.
“Here’s a little bureau by the wall,” said Dalton, “and as I intend to enjoy the luxury of undressing, I’m going to put my clothes in it, where they’ll keep dry. You’ll notice that all the panes have been shot out of those windows, and a driving rain would sweep all the way across the room.”
“Now and then a good idea springs up in some way in that old head of yours, George. I’ll do the same.”
Dalton opened the top drawer.
“Something has been left here,” he said.
He held up a large doll with blue eyes and yellow hair.
“As sure as we’re living,” said Harry, “we’re in the room of little Miss Julia Moncrieffe, aged nine, the young lady who sent us the holly. Evidently they took away all their clothing and lighter articles of furniture, but they forgot the doll. Put it back, George. They’ll return to Fredericksburg some day and we want her to find it there.”
“You’re right, Harry,” said Dalton, as he replaced the doll and closed the drawer. “You and I ought to be grateful to that little girl whom we may never see.”
“We won’t forget,” said Harry, as he undressed rapidly and lay down upon their luxurious bed of blankets and straw.
Neither of them remembered anything until they were dragged into the middle of the room next morning by St. Clair and Langdon.
“Here! here! wake up! wake up!” cried Langdon. “It’s not polite to your hosts to be snoring away when breakfast is almost ready. Go down on a piece of the back porch that’s left, and you’ll find two pans of cold water in which you can wash your faces. It’s true the pans are frozen over, but you can break the ice, and it will remind you of home and your little boyhood.”
They sprang up and dressed as rapidly as they could, because when they came from the covers they found it icy cold in the room. Then they ran down, as they had been directed, broke the ice in the pans and bathed their faces.