“Didn’t you tell me at Alexandria that you hated him?”

“I said that—­yes.  I was disappointed because the Westchester Horse was not attached to John Casson’s regiment. . . .  I don’t—­dislike Colonel Arran.”

Berkley was still red; he lay in the grass on his stomach, watching the big cloud pile on the horizon.

“You know,” said Casson, “that part of our army stretches as far as that smoke.  We’re the rear-guard.”

“Listen to the guns,” said Wye, pretending technical familiarity even at that distance.  “They’re big fellows—­those Dahlgrens and Columbiads——­”

“Oh, bosh!” snapped Casson, “you can’t tell a howitzer from a rocket!”

Wye sat up, thoroughly offended.  “To prove your dense ignorance, you yellow-bellied dragoon, let me ask you a simple question:  When a shell is fired toward you can you see it coming?”

“Certainly.  Didn’t we see the big shells at Yorktown——­”

“Wait!  When a solid shot is fired, can you see it when it is coming toward you?”

“Certainly——­”

“No you can’t, you ignoramus!  You can see a shell coming or going; you can see a solid shot going—­never coming from the enemy’s guns.  Aw! go soak that bull head of yours and wear a lady-like havelock!”

The bickering discussion became general for a moment, then, still disputing, Casson and Wye walked off toward camp, and Stephen and Berkley followed.

“Have you heard from your mother?” asked the latter, as they sauntered along over the grass.

“Yes, twice.  Father was worried half to death because she hadn’t yet left Paigecourt.  Isn’t it strange, Phil, that after all we’re so near mother’s old home?  And father was all against her going, I tell you, I’m worried.”

“She has probably gone by this time,” observed Berkley.

The boy nodded doubtfully; then:  “I had a fine letter from Ailsa.  She sent me twenty dollars,” he added naively, “but our sutler has got it all.”

“What did Ailsa say?” asked Berkley casually.

“Oh, she enquired about father and me—­and you, too, I believe.  Oh, yes; she wanted me to say to you that she was well—–­and so is that other girl—­what’s her name?”

“Letty Lynden?”

“Oh, yes—­Letty Lynden.  They’re in a horrible kind of a temporary hospital down on the York River along with the Sisters of Charity; and she said she had just received orders to pack up and start west with the ambulances.”

“West?”

“I believe so.”

After a silence Berkley said: 

“I heard from her yesterday.”

“You did!”

“Yes.  Unless your father already knows, it might be well to say to him that Ailsa’s ambulance train is ordered to rendezvous in the rear of the 5th Provisional Corps head-quarters.”

“Our corps!”

“That looks like it, doesn’t it?  The 5th Provisional Corps is Porter’s.”  He turned and looked back, out across the country.