The next morning about sunrise two Federal soldiers sat on their horses
before Mrs. Marsden's front door. The family were assembled on the porch.
They were always early risers, and their being up a little earlier than
usual would have caused no comment. Possibly the leave-taking might have
seemed a little queer to prying eyes.
"Take care of my gun," the youngest-looking of the soldiers whispered to
Roberta, "and if I live, I'll come back before long and get it."
"Will you?" said the child, delightedly. "Then I'll take care of it,
sure." An instant afterwards added, with the serio-comic imitation of the
fire of older tongues, so common at that time, "They will have to walk
over my dead body before they take it from me."
As the soldiers rode through the avenue the murkiness overhead cleared,
and shafts of clear gold fell earthward; each blade of grass sparkled like
a diamond, and tiny globules hung from the leaves of the trees, reflecting
countless dazzling prisms of light. A lark started up from the high grass
of the meadow, and soared aloft, dropping soft trills and quavers and
clear, fresh warbles from his happy little throat.
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