EDITH.  Oh!  Splendidly!  Frankie isn’t a baby any longer; he’s a man, now, and he has to wear a man’s clothes. [Holding up a little pair of trousers, with maternal pride.] He’s rather young to be dressed like a man, but I want Frank to grow up as soon as possible.  I long to have him old enough to understand me when I repeat to him the words in which General Haverill told the whole world how his father died! [Rising.] And yet, even in his official report to the Government, he only honoured him as Lieutenant Bedloe.  He has never forgiven his son for the disgrace he brought upon his name.

MRS. HAVERILL.  I know him so well—­[Rising.]—­the unyielding pride, that conquers even the deep tenderness of his nature.  He can be silent, though his own heart is breaking. [Aside.] He can be silent, too, though my heart is breaking. [Dropping her face in her hand.

EDITH. Mother! [Putting her arm about her.

Enter JANNETTE.

JANNETTE.  A letter for you, Madam.

MRS. HAVERILL. [Taking note.  Aside.] He has answered me. [Opens and reads; inclines her head to JANNETTE, who goes out to hall.  Aloud.] General Haverill will be here this afternoon, Edith. [Exit up the stairs.

EDITH.  There is something that she cannot confide to me, or to anyone.  General Haverill returned to Washington yesterday, and he has not been here yet.  He will be here to-day.  I always tremble when I think of meeting him.

GENERAL BUCKTHORN appears in hall.

BUCKTHORN.  Come right in; this way, Barket.  Ah, Edith!

BARKET. [Entering.] As I was saying, sur—­just after the battle of
Sayder Creek began—­

BUCKTHORN. [To EDITH.] More good news!  The war is, indeed, over, now!

BARKET.  Whin Colonel Wist rode to the front to mate his raytrating rigiment—­

BUCKTHORN.  General Johnson has surrendered his army, also; and that, of course, does end the war.

EDITH.  I’m very glad that all the fighting is over.

BUCKTHORN.  So am I; but my occupation, and old Barket’s, too, is gone. 
Always at work on new clothes for our little soldier?

EDITH.  He’s growing so, I can hardly make them fast enough for him.  But this is the time for his afternoon nap.  I must go now, to see if he is sleeping soundly.

BUCKTHORN.  Our dear little mother! [Tapping her chin.] I always claim the privilege of my white hair, you know. [She, puts up her lips; he kisses her.  She goes out.] The sweetest young widow I ever saw! [BARKET coughs. BUCKTHORN turns sharply; BARKET salutes.] Well!  What the devil are you thinking about now?

BARKET.  The ould time, sur.  Yer honour used to claim the same privilege for brown hair.

BUCKTHORN.  You old rascal!  What a memory you have!  You were telling me for the hundredth time about the battle of Cedar Creek; go on.  I can never hear it often enough.  Kerchival West was a favourite of mine, poor fellow!