Jimmie made no comment, and Dad went on with the rest of the story. At its close the boy said, as though picking up the thread of a long-discussed theme: “Yes, I shed think she’d make a bully grandmother for any feller.” “She?” rasped Dad. “Who? What on earth are you bleating about?” “About Mrs. Sessions, of course, Dad. Why, don’t you?” “Son,” coldly declaimed his grandfather, “there’s things a fool boy has no right to--to--Oh, Jimmie, lad, how’d you guess? She’s a wonderful little woman. And I told her all about you. And she feels just like a mother to you already. She says so, son, and-- “My lad,” Dad caught himself up pompously, “this is not a subject I care to discuss. Have you heard anything from your father? Or have you seen him?” “N--no, sir,” said the boy, strangling a laugh at his grandfather’s abrupt change of tone, and wisely humoring the whim of reticence. “I haven’t seen him. I was afraid to look him up for fear he might want to pack me off out of this back to that old school.” “He might,” agreed Dad. “A year ago he would. But perhaps this past year he’s learned something himself in this war-school that will make him understand you better. It will be great when we are all three home again and can have camp-fires and yarn over our exploits. I make no doubt Joseph is a commissioned officer long ago. He is bound to become one, yes. Unquestionably, a man of his solid wisdom--” A crackle of musketry broke in on the talk. The two Federal regiments, in fan-formation, were moving slowly forward toward the village. Advancing a few yards under fire, they would halt, drop to earth, and let fly at the village walls and windows; crawling forward once more and repeating the maneuvers. “It’s a good move,” Dad approved. “It would be crazy for them to try to carry the village by storm. But they just want to keep the Confeds amused and hold them where they are for a half-hour or so. Our boys will fall back presently, and start the same tactics over again.” The rippling fire from the Federals was answered by a truly vicious outpour of smoke and flame-jet from the doors and windows and angles of the little village. Back ran the maneuvering Federals to cover. And as they did so, Dad jumped to his feet with an involuntary cry of dismay. CHAPTER XX THE PRODIGAL FATHER The fan-formation made the Federal line wide-scattered, as in “deploying skirmishers.” Every man had fully fifty feet of space between himself and the next soldier. This formation, and the eccentric method of advance and retreat, combined with the long range, made the Yankee regiments extremely difficult targets for volley fire. Almost unscathed, they had made their advance. And almost unscathed they were coming back. It was not a battle. It was merely a bit of bull-baiting. And now it was over; and the two regiments, at a command, were withdrawing from range, preparatory to massing and resuming their march, to catch up with their own main body.