“I suppose it means war,” said Tom Fragini with a soberness that was in keeping with the grave faces of his fellows.  Stransky sitting at one side by himself smiled.

“Well, you’d think it was a funeral!” grandfather exclaimed in disgust.

“There will be lots of funerals!” said Tom.

“I s’pose there will be; but if you get that in your mind how can you fight?” grandfather demanded.  “Why, if any Hussar had spoken of funerals we’d called him white-livered, that’s what we would!  We cheered till we was hoarse; we danced and hugged one another; we rattled our sabres in our scabbards; we sang rip-roaring death-or-glory songs.  When you’re going to war you want to sing and shout.  That’s the way to keep your spirits up.”

“Let’s sing ‘Ring-around-the-rosy’ to please the old gentleman.  Come on!” suggested Stransky.

“I don’t see that we are after either death or glory,” said Tom.  “We are going to do our duty.”

The impulse of enthusiasm seemed equally lacking in the others.  Stransky grinned and his deep-set eyes turned inward with a squint of knowing satisfaction at the bony bridge of his nose.

“I’m not wanting any traitor to start any songs for me!” declared grandfather.

“Never mind.  The fellows on the other side aren’t any more enthusiastic than we are, grandfather,” Stransky said soothingly, in his mocking way.  “The fact is, we don’t want to kill our brothers across the frontier and they don’t want to kill us or be killed.  It’s only the ruling classes that want the proletariat to—­”

“Fire away, Stransky!  It’s hours since you made a speech!” chirruped a voice.

“Look out, Bert, the sergeant’s coming!” another voice warned the orator.

The state of mind of the 53d was that of all the regiments of the Browns with their faces toward the white posts, quiet, thoughtful, and grave; for they had not to arouse ardor for the aggressive.  As they were to receive rather than give blows they might be more honest with themselves than the men of the Grays.

In marching order, with cartridge-boxes full, on Saturday night the 53d marched out to the main pass road.  When Grandfather Fragini found that he had been ordered to remain behind he sought the colonel.

“I’ve got reasons!  Let me come!” he pleaded.

“No.  It is no place for you.”

“I can keep up!  I can keep up!  I feel like a boy!”

“But it is different these days, and this is the infantry.  The bullets carry far.  You will not know how to take cover,” the colonel explained.

“Well, if I am killed I won’t be losing much time on this earth,” grandfather observed with cool logic.  “But that ain’t it.  I’m worried about Tom.  I’m afraid he ain’t going to fight!  I—­I want to stiffen him up!”

“He will fight, all right.  Sorry, but it is out of the question,” said the colonel, turning away.

Grandfather buried his face in his hands and shook with the sobs of second childhood until an idea occurred to him.  Wasn’t he a free man?  Hadn’t he as much right as anybody to use the public highway?  Drying his eyes, he set out along the road in the wake of the regiment.