Six o'clock passed, seven o'clock, eight o'clock, and now the great wounded army seemed to breathe deeply and to turn a little and to think about rising. It was beaten, sore, but it could not pause here. It was still in the country of its enemy; it must be up and away lest worse harm befall it. Opposite lay the victor, who, although wounded also, was better furnished with the munitions of war. The beaten army must set forth on the weary way by which it had come. All the forenoon men were marching. From the woods near by, wagons, rough, springless and uncovered, drawn by thin, jaded horses, approached over the fields to the doors of farmhouses and barns. Into them were lifted the wounded from the houses and from the open fields. They were not lifted carefully; there was not time to be careful. Across the fields toward the west to the nearest road the wagons went and took their places in the great line. The skies lowered more and more, and presently from the east a chilling wind began to blow. Standing in the doorway, Emmeline felt it on her bare arms and neck, and shivered. When a wagon stopped at Grandfather Willing's door and the bearers entered, Emmeline went weeping to bid farewell to these her enemies. Private Christy had lifted his knapsack to his shoulder and had taken in his hand a staff, as if he were preparing for a long journey. The officer in charge of the wagon ordered all men who were wounded only in the arms or head or shoulders to walk beside it; others were lifted in upon the board floors of the wagon; others were left where they lay. Emmeline clung to Private Christy's hand. "Why don't they take them, too?" she asked. "They're too sick, Emmyline." "What will become of them?" "I don't know, Emmyline. You give 'em water." "Are you really going away from me?" "I've got to go, Emmyline!" said Private Christy. "Marchin' orders are marchin' orders. You stay here in the house, mind! You write to me sometime, and when the war is over you've got to get acquainted with my Bessie." "Does this end the war?" asked Emmeline. "I don't know, sissy, but I'm afraid not. Emmyline, would you"--Private Christy blushed like a boy--"would you give me a kiss?" "I will give you a dozen!" cried Emmeline. Then, beside the lumbering wagon, Private Christy marched away. A soldier leaned on his arm before he left the porch; before he had left the gate he had given his staff to another. Bereft, Emmeline watched him go. Once he turned and nodded his head to her, and then marched on. Private Christy looked up at the lowering sky. In a moment he felt on his cheek the first drop of the advancing torrent. Then the heavens opened on the great generals and the marching soldiers and the wounded in their open wagons.