His hat was immediately off, swept through a nobler circle than the modern bow demands, and he spoke with the elaboration of courtesy which suited his age; for, though his stride was vigorous, he was no longer young. It was a severe, careworn face of a stern, almost hard, nobility of expression. Yet the smile when it came was engaging, and old Mrs. Buchan, as she smiled in return, found herself saying to herself that no Southerner, however stern, could fail to have this graceful lighter side. For his question had been put in the softer accents of Virginia and of the states farther south. “I’ve lost my way,” he began, with the very slightest, small, gay laugh. But he was instantly serious. “It is so many, many years since I was here.” Mrs. Buchan pointed up the road. “That is the way to Princeton.” “Princeton, of course. That’s where we fought the British and beat them. It seems strange, does it not, that we now fight with them?” “We must forget the Revolution now, must we not?” This from Mrs. Buchan. “Forget the Revolution!” he flashed back at her, almost angrily. Then more gently: “Perhaps. If we remember liberty!” He glanced an instant up the road to Princeton hill and then went on. “They fought well then, madam. As a soldier I am glad to have such good allies. But I was forgetting. Yonder lies Princeton, and from there there is the post-road to New York, is there not? I must be in New York by morning.” Mrs. Buchan was old-fashioned, but she found herself murmuring amazedly something about railroads and motor-cars. But he did not seem to hear her. “Yes,” he continued, “I must be in New York by morning. The first transport with our troops sails for France.” “I know,” she said, proudly. “My grandson, George Buchan, sails for France.” “George Buchan? There was a George Buchan fought at Princeton, I remember.” “There was. And another George Buchan in the War of Eighteen-twelve. And a John in the Mexican War. And a William in eighteen sixty-three. There was no one in the Spanish War—my son was dead and my grandson was too young. But now he is ready.” “Every American is ready,” her visitor answered. “I am ready.” “You?” she broke out. And for the first time she seemed to see that his hair was white. “Are you going?” “Every one who has ever fought for America is going. There is a company of them behind me. Listen.” Down the road there was faintly to be heard the clatter of hoofs. “Some joined me in Virginia, some as we crossed the Potomac by Arlington, where there is a house which once belonged to a relative of mine. And there were others, old friends, who met me as we came through Valley Forge in Pennsylvania. You would not now know Valley Forge,” he finished, half to himself.