“I believe in them--over there,” said Gerry slowly. “But not over here. They rule fine in England, it seems to me. But in America--the way I’ve come to see America--they don’t know what they’re doing at all.” Stark’s grin told Kitty that he had heard the answer he wanted to hear, but he had one more word of caution. “Remember, you been knocked in the head, lad. Are you sure you know what you’re about? That you won’t wake up in a daze some morning and wish you was back with the Twenty-third?” “No,” said Gerry. “I won’t wish myself back.” Stark got to his feet. “Might happen,” he said mildly, “if you was to slip out of camp long about midnight, sentry would be looking the other way.” “Thank you, sir,” said Gerry fervently. “Thank me in ten years,” said Stark, “if you still want to then. It’s a crazy venture, and we can’t tell how it’ll turn out. But if it’s what you want, get on with it. They say hanging and wiving goes by destiny. And I guess you’re lucky in both o’ them matters, lad.” He led them toward the front door, and as they passed by a small parlor opening off the hall, Kitty caught sight of a couple inside it. They sat on a peacock-colored sofa, locked in a deep embrace. Startled at the sound of footsteps, they drew apart. Stark shot a quick look in their direction and grinned widely. “No harm in it,” he said, “they’re a betrothed pair.” He would have kept on down the hall, but Kitty stood still, gasping. The man on the blue sofa was Tom Trask, and the girl was a stranger to her; small and delicately formed, with a beautiful cameo face and shining red hair. Under their scrutiny Tom stood up. Some men would have been embarrassed, but not he. He scooped the girl to her feet and led her forward. “Well,” he greeted them, “so it’s Kit herself, and _Private_ Malory. I’d like you to meet Jeanie Morrison.” He looked down at the red-haired girl, and there was a tender merriment in his eye. “I kissed with all the girls some,” he continued. “But I always knew I’d marry Jean.” “Listen to the man!” trilled Jeanie. She gave him an enchanting smile that showed a dimple in her cheek. “Jeanie come down from Derryfield with my wife a few days back,” explained the colonel, sensing some tension in the air he could not understand. “She came to see Tom and bring him his gun. A Brown Bess, British made, one of the best guns in the army.” “Aye,” said Tom mockingly. “I got my own gun. You can have your blunderbuss back, Kitty. I’ll bring it to the hospital tomorrow.” “Don’t bother,” said Kitty, but Gerry’s eyes lighted. “Is there any way we could get it tonight?” he asked. Kitty knew what he was thinking, and she saw the rightness of it. He meant to go to Plymouth, armed with the Plymouth blunderbuss. Tom shrugged, “If you want it that bad,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I brought it with me. You’ll find it standing among the lilacs to the right of the front door.”