She had not the opportunity much longer to look at me, for on the morrow, Young Master's troop, now but a play-thing, was to become a part of the great machinery of war. It was known that we were going, but at the supper table not a word bearing upon that subject was uttered by Old Miss, Mr. Clem or Miss May. We heard Old Master walking up and down the hall. At night Mr. Clem came to the room. "Well, you march to-morrow, I suppose," said he. "Yes," Young Master replied, "we go, rain or shine." "And I go very soon. I am waiting for my commission. Having once been a soldier gives me some little importance." "Uncle Clem, do you think we can get through within ninety days?" "Get through what?" "Do you think that the war will be over within that time?" "Yes, if the South lays down her arms." "She won't do that." "Then the war will last until she does. You people have a peculiar idea of this government. Do you think we are going to suffer it to go to pieces, that we will submit to disruption as long as there is an arm to strike? Why, the women in this community, your mother included, look upon it as a pic-nic excursion. Dan?" "Yes, sir." "Are you going to shoot at the men who would free you?" "I am going with Young Master, sir, to do as he bids me." "He is not going as a soldier, but as a servant, Uncle Clem." "Same thing, Bob. The teamster is as much of a soldier, when results are estimated, as the man who carries a gun. But it is all right, Dan. No one can hold you responsible. Bob, old Potter is a hot rebel, isn't he?" "Rampageous; and his daughter is making a Confederate flag--for me. We'll stop there and get it as we pass to-morrow." Early the next morning our troop was marshalled on the turn-pike about a mile from the house. From the rear veranda Old Master could see the flashing of their steel. He stood there gazing until Bob came out from breakfast. "One moment," said the old man, stepping into the hall. "You do not go with my curse, but with my wounded love. There, sir, not a word from you." They shook hands, but did not look into each other's eyes. Old Miss, Miss May and Mr. Clem walked with him to the gate. The parting was not sad, for no one of us, except Mr. Clem, attached much importance to the war cry, the bugle and the drum. Young Master mounted first, and then, turning to me, said: "Dan, I have forgotten something. Run up stairs and get my Horace. You can overtake me." When I came down, Titine was standing alone at the gate. "They are about to leave you," she said, laughing. "It would delight me to be left if I thought you--" "Too late for nonsense, now, Dan." "You have made it too late for sense, Titine." "Of course you blame me with everything." "No, but I blame you with one thing, which, after all, is nearly everything--the death of my heart. But why talk of heart to a heartless creature--Titine, let me kiss you."