The men settled to a halt with a clash and a bang. There could be heard
the dulled sound of many hoofs outside of the house.
"Did you order up the horses?" inquired the captain.
"Yes. We thought----"
"Well, then, let's get out of here," interrupted the captain morosely.
The men began to filter out into the open air. The youth in gray had
been hanging dismally to the railing of the stairway. He now was
climbing slowly up to the second floor. The old man was addressing
himself directly to the serene corporal.
"Not a chicken on the place!" he cried.
"Well, I didn't take your chickens, did I?"
"No, maybe you didn't, but----"
The captain crossed the hall and stood before the girl in rather a
culprit's fashion. "You are not angry at me, are you?" he asked timidly.
"No," she said. She hesitated a moment, and then suddenly held out her
hand. "You were good to me--and I'm--much obliged."
The captain took her hand, and then he blushed, for he found himself
unable to formulate a sentence that applied in any way to the situation.
She did not seem to heed that hand for a time.
He loosened his grasp presently, for he was ashamed to hold it so long
without saying anything clever. At last, with an air of charging an
intrenched brigade, he contrived to say, "I would rather do anything
than frighten or trouble you."
His brow was warmly perspiring. He had a sense of being hideous in his
dusty uniform and with his grimy face.
She said, "Oh, I'm so glad it was you instead of somebody who might
have--might have hurt brother Harry and grandpa!"