Why," he exclaimed in genuine surprise, "you
can hear the birds again." A sleepy twitter had floated out over the
stream. Still no response. He should not, certainly, have mentioned the
war. He wondered desperately what a fine and delicate being like
Rosemary Roselle talked about? It would be wise to avoid serious and
immediate considerations for commonplaces.
"Ellik McCosh," he said, "a girl in our village who went to Boston,
learned to dance, and when she came back she taught two or three. Her
communion medal was removed from her," he added with complete veracity.
"Perhaps," he went on conversationally, "you don't have communion
medals in Richmond--it's a little lead piece you have when you are in
good standing at the Lord's table. Mine was taken away for three months
for whistling by the church door. A long while ago," he ended in a
different voice. He thought of the fruit cake, and breaking off a piece
offered it to the silent girl. "It's like your own," he told her,
placing it on a piece of paper at her side; "it's from Richmond and
wasn't even paid for with strange silver."
At this last a sudden uneasiness possessed him, and he hurriedly
searched his pockets. He had exactly fifty cents. Until the present he
had totally overlooked the depleted state of his fortune. Elim had some
arrears of pay, but now he seriously doubted whether they were
collectible. Nothing else. He had emerged from the war brevetted major
but as penniless as the morning of his enlistment.
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