The boy turned his pony and raced along the column under a running fire of approving chaff from the men, until he came abreast of the bandmaster once more, at whom he stared with fascinated and uncloyed satisfaction. Into a broad common wheeled the cavalry; the boy followed on his pony, guiding the little beast in among the mounted men, edging as close as possible to the bandmaster, who had drawn bridle and wheeled his showy horse abreast of a group of officers. When the boy had crowded up as close as possible to the bandmaster he sat in silence, blissfully drinking in the splendors of that warrior's dusty apparel. "I'm right glad you-all have come," ventured the boy. The bandmaster swung round in his saddle and saw a small sun-tanned face and two wide eyes intently fixed on his. "I reckon you don't know how glad my sister and I are to see you down here," said the boy politely. "When are you going to have a battle?" "A battle!" repeated the bandmaster. "Yes, sir. You're going to fight, of course, aren't you?" "Not if people leave us alone--and leave that railroad alone," replied the officer, backing his restive horse to the side of the fence as the troopers trotted past into the meadow, fours crowding closely on fours. "Not fight?" exclaimed the boy, astonished. "Isn't there going to be a battle?" "I'll let you know when there's going to be one," said the bandmaster absently. "You won't forget, will you?" inquired the boy. "My name is William Stuart Westcote, and I live in that house." He pointed with his riding whip up the hill. "You won't forget, will you?" "No, child, I won't forget." "My sister Celia calls me Billy; perhaps you had better just ask her for Billy if I'm not there when you gallop up to tell me--that is, if you're coming yourself. Are you?" he ended wistfully. "Do you want me to come?" inquired the bandmaster, amused. "Would you really come?" cried the boy. "Would you really come to visit me?" "I'll consider it," said the bandmaster gravely. "Do you think you could come to-night?" asked the boy. "We'd certainly be glad to see you--my sister and I. Folks around here like the Malletts and the Colvins and the Garnetts don't visit us any more, and it's lonesome sometimes." "I think that you should ask your sister first," suggested the bandmaster. "Why? She's loyal!" exclaimed the boy earnestly. "Besides, you're coming to visit _me_, I reckon. Aren't you?" "Certainly," said the bandmaster hastily. "To-night?" "I'll do my best, Billy." The boy held out a shy hand; the officer bent from his saddle and took it in his soiled buckskin gauntlet. "Good night, my son," he said, without a smile, and rode off into the meadow among a crowd of troopers escorting the regimental wagons. A few moments later a child on a pony tore into the weed-grown drive leading to the great mansion on the hill, scaring a lone darky who had been dawdling among the roses.