His heart seemed to be clear up in his throat.  During the tender scene he had just passed through, he had manfully resisted his inclination to weep, but he could no longer restrain the tears.  Suddenly they came like a flood bursting the gates that confined it, and he choked and sobbed like a little girl.  He leaned upon his musket, covering his face with his arm.

“It’s a hard case,” said private Hapgood, who stood next to him in the ranks.

“I didn’t think it would take me down like this,” sobbed Tom.

“Don’t blubber, Tom.  Let’s go off game,” added Ben Lethbridge, who stood on the other side of him.

“I can’t help it, Ben.”

“Yes, you can—­dry up!  Soldiers don’t cry, Tom.”

“Yes, they do, my boy,” said Hapgood, who was a little old man, nearly ten years beyond the period of exemption from military duty.  “I don’t blame Tom for crying, and, in my opinion, he’ll fight all the better for it.”

“Perhaps he will, old un; but I don’t think much of a soldier that blubbers like a baby.  I hope he won’t run away when he sees the rebels coming,” sneered Ben.

“If he does, he’ll have a chance to see how thick the heels of your boots are,” answered the old man.

“What do you mean by that, old un?” demanded Ben.

“Attention—­company!  Shoulder—­arms!  Forward—­march!” said the captain; and the discussion was prevented from proceeding any further.

The band, which was at the head of the citizens’ column, struck up an inspiring march, and Tom dried his tears.  The escort moved off, followed by the company.  They passed the little cottage of Captain Somers, and Tom saw the whole family except John, who was in the escort, standing at the front gate.  The old soldier swung his hat, Tom’s sisters and his mother waved their handkerchiefs; but when they saw the soldier boy, they had to use them for another purpose.  Tom felt another upward pressure in the region of the throat; but this time he choked down his rising emotions, and saved himself from the ridicule of his more callous companion on the left.

In violation of military discipline, he turned his head to take one last, fond look at the home he was leaving behind.  It might be the last time he should ever gaze on that loved spot, now a thousand times more dear than ever before.  Never had he realized the meaning of home; never before had he felt how closely his heart’s tendrils were entwined about that hallowed place.  Again, in spite of his firmness and fortitude, and in spite of the sneers of Ben Lethbridge, he felt the hot tears sliding down his cheek.

When he reached the brow of the hill which would soon hide the little cottage from his view, perhaps forever, he gazed behind him again, to take his last look at the familiar spot.  His mother and sister still stood at the front gate watching the receding column in which the son and the brother was marching away to peril and perhaps death.