Once it happened in the story of our hard-fighting,
hard-used little army that a bevy of fair young wives, nearly half a
score in number, in all the bravery of their summer toilets, sat in the
shadow of the flag, all smiles and gladness and applause, joining in the
garrison festivities on the Nation's natal day, never dreaming of the
awful news that should fell them ere the coming of another sun; that one
and all they had been widowed more than a week; that the men they loved,
whose names they bore, lay hacked and mutilated beyond recognition
within sight of those very hills where now the men from Frayne were
facing the same old foe. In the midst of army life we are, indeed, in
death, and the thanksgiving of loving ones about the fireside for
mercies thus far shown, is mingled ever with the dread of what the
morrow may unfold.
"Let me go, too, mamma," was Esther's prompt appeal, as she heard her
mother's words. "I can put the children to bed while you and Mrs. Foster
are over there."
And so with Hogan, lantern bearing, mother and daughter had followed the
sergeant's wife across the broad, snow-covered parade; had passed
without comment, though each was thinking of the new inmate, the
brightly-lighted hospital building on the edge of the plateau, and
descended the winding pathway to the humble quarters of the married
soldiers, nestling in the sheltered flats between the garrison proper
and the bold bluffs that again close bordered the rushing stream.
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