went out of plumb, out of shape and order, and a thousand brass-buttoned throats shouted good-by and hurrah.  Shakos waved, shoulders were snatched and hugged, blue kepis and red were knocked awry, beards were kissed and mad tears let flow.  And still, with a rigor the superbest yet because the new tune was so perfect to march by, fell the unshaken tread of the cannoneers, and every onlooker laughed and wept and cheered as the brass rent out to the deafening drums, and the drums roared back to the piercing brass,—­

  De black-snake love’ de blackbird’ nes’,
      De baby love’ his mamy’s bres’,
  An’ raggy-tag, aw spick-an’-span,
      De ladies loves de ladies’ man. 
    I loves to roll my eyes to de ladies! 
    I loves to sympathize wid de ladies! 
  As long as eveh I knows sugah f’om san’
      I’s bound to be a ladies’ man.

So the black-hatted giant with the silver staff strode into the wide shed, the puffy-cheeked band reading their music and feeling for foothold as they followed, and just yonder behind them, in the middle of the white way, untouched by all those fathers, unhailed by any brother of his own, came Hilary Kincaid with all the battery at his neat heels, its files tightly serried but its platoons in open order, each flashing its sabres to a “present” on nearing the General and back to a “carry” when he was passed, and then lengthening into column of files to enter the blessed shade of the station.

In beside them surged a privileged throng of near kin, every one calling over every one’s head, “Good-by!” “Good-by!” “Here’s your mother, Johnnie!” and, “Here’s your wife, Achille!” Midmost went the Callenders, the Valcours, and Victorine, willy-nilly, topsy-turvy, swept away, smothering, twisting, laughing, stumbling, staggering, yet saved alive by that man of the moment Mandeville, until half-way down the shed and the long box-car train they brought up on a pile of ordnance stores and clung like drift in a flood.  And at every twist and stagger Anna said in her heart a speech she had been saying over and over ever since the start from Callender House; a poor commonplace speech that must be spoken though she perished for shame of it; that must be darted out just at the right last instant if such an instant Heaven would only send:  “I take back what I said last night and I’m glad you spoke as you did!”

Here now the moment seemed at hand.  For here was the officers’ box-car and here with sword in sheath Kincaid also had stopped, in conference with the conductor, while his lieutenants marched the column on, now halted it along the train’s full length, now faced it against the open cars and now gave final command to break ranks.  In comic confusion the fellows clambered aboard stormed by their friends’ fond laughter at the awkwardness of loaded knapsacks, and their retorting mirth drowned in a new flood of good-bys and adieus, fresh waving of hats and handkerchiefs,