Just then, a radiant little creature looked up into Crittenden's face,
calling him by name and holding out both hands--Phyllis, Basil's little
sweetheart. With her was a tall, keen-featured fellow, whom she
introduced as a war correspondent and a Northerner.
"A sort of war correspondent," corrected Grafton, with a swift look of
interest at Crittenden, but turning his eyes at once back to Phyllis.
She was a new and diverting type to the Northern man and her name was
fitting and pleased him. A company passed just then, and a smothered
exclamation from Phyllis turned attention to it. On the end of the line,
with his chin in, his shoulders squared and his eyes straight forward,
was Crittenden's warrior-brother, Basil. Only his face coloured to show
that he knew where he was and who was looking at him, but not so much as
a glance of his eye did he send toward the tent. Judith turned to
Crittenden quickly: "Your little brother is going to the war?" The question was thoughtless
and significant, for it betrayed to him what was going on in her mind,
and she knew it and coloured, as he paled a little.
"My little brother is going to the war," he repeated, looking at her.
Judith smiled and went on bravely: "And you?"
Crittenden, too, smiled.
"I may consider it my duty to stay at home."
The girl looked rather surprised--instead of showing the subdued sarcasm
that he was looking for--and, in truth, she was. His evasive and
careless answer showed an indifference to her wish and opinion in the
matter that would once have been very unusual. Straightway there was a
tug at her heart-strings that also was unusual.
The people were gathering into the open-air auditorium now and, from all
over the camp, the crowd began to move that way. All knew the word of
the orator's mouth and the word of the editor--they had heard the one
and seen the other on his printed page many times; and it was for this
reason, perhaps, that Crittenden's fresh fire thrilled and swayed the
crowd as it did.
When he rose, he saw his mother almost under him and, not far behind
her, Judith with her father, Judge Page. The lieutenant of regulars was
standing on the edge of the crowd, and to his right was Grafton, also
standing, with his hat under his arm--idly curious. But it was to his
mother that he spoke and, steadfastly, he saw her strong, gentle face
even when he was looking far over her head, and he knew that she knew
that he was arguing the point then and there between them.