Mrs. Craig's fingers became restless on her husband's sleeve; she spoke at moments in soft, wistful tones, watching her younger daughters and their friends grouped under the trees in the dusk. And all the time, whatever it was that had brought a new unease into her breast was still there, latent. She had no name to give it, no reason, no excuse; it was too shadowy to bear analysis, too impalpable to be defined, yet it remained there; she was perfectly conscious of it, as she held her husband's sleeve the tighter. "Curt, is business so plaguey poor because of all these politics?" "My business is not very flourishing. Many men feel the uncertainty; not everybody, dear." "When this--_matter_--is settled, everything will be easier for you, won't it? You look so white and tired, dear." Stephen overheard her. "The _matter_, as you call it, won't be settled without a row, mother--if you mean the rebellion." "Such a wise boy with his new cigar," she smiled through a sudden resurgence of uneasiness. The boy said calmly: "Mother, you don't understand; and all the rest of the South is like you." "Does anybody understand, Steve?" asked his father, slightly ironical. "Some people understand there's going to be a big fight," said the boy. "Oh. Do you?" "Yes," he said, with the conviction of youth. "And I'm wondering who's going to be in it." "The militia, of course," observed Ailsa scornfully. "Camilla is forever sewing buttons on Jimmy's dress uniform. He wears them off dancing." Mr. Craig said, unsmiling: "We are not a military nation, Steve; we are not only non-military but we are unmilitary--if you know what that means." "We once managed to catch Cornwallis," suggested his son, still proudly smoking. "I wonder how we did it?" mused his father. "They were another race--those catchers of Cornwallis--those fellows in, blue-and-buff and powdered hair." "You and Celia are their grandchildren," observed Ailsa, "and you are a West Point graduate." Her brother-in-law looked at her with a strange sort of humour in his handsome, near-sighted eyes: "Yes, too blind to serve the country that educated me. And now it's too late; the desire is gone; I have no inclination to fight, Ailsa. Drums always annoyed me. I don't particularly like a gun. I don't care for a fuss. I don't wish to be a soldier." Ailsa said: "I rather like the noise of drums. I think I'd like--war." "Molly Pitcher! Molly Pitcher! Of what are you babbling," whispered Celia, laughing down the flashes of pain that ran through her heart. "Wars are ended in our Western World. Didn't you know it, grandchild of Vikings? There are to be no more Lake Champlains, only debates--_n'est ce pas_, Curt?--very grand debates between gentlemen of the South and gentlemen of the North in Congress assembled----" "_Two_ congresses assembled," said Ailsa calmly, "and the debates will be at long range----"