POLLY
He meant—­to decorate the graves.

LINK
O’ course;
but I must take my little laugh.  I told him
I guessed I wa’n’t persent’ble anyhow,
my mustache and my boots wa’n’t blacked this mornin’. 
I don’t jest like t’ talk about my legs.—­
Be you a-goin’ to take your young school folks,
Polly?

POLLY
Dear no!  I told my boys and girls
to march up this way with the band.  I said
I’d be a-stayin’ home and learnin’ how
to keep school in the woodpile here with you.

LINK
(looking up at her proudly)

Schoolma’am at seventeen!  Some smart, I tell ye!

POLLY
(caressing him)

Schoolmaster, you, past seventy; that’s smarter! 
I tell ’em I learn from you, so’s I can teach
my young folks what the study-books leave out.

LINK
Sure ye don’t want to jine the celebratin’?

POLLY
No, sir! We’re goin’ to celebrate right here,
and you’re to teach me to keep school some more.

(She holds ready for him the blue coat and hat.)

LINK
(looking up)

What’s thar?

POLLY
Your teachin’ rig.

(She helps him on with it.)

LINK
The old blue coat!—­
My, but I’d like to see the boys—­(gazing at the hat) the Grand
Old Army Boys! (dreamily) Yes, we was boys:  jest boys! 
Polly, you tell your young folks, when they study
the books, that we was nothin’ else but boys
jest fallin’ in love, with best gals left t’ home—­
the same as you; and when the shot was singin’,
we pulled their picters out, and prayed to them
’most morn’n the Almighty.

(LINK looks up suddenly—­a strange light in his face. 
Again, to a far strain of music, the bugle sounds.)

Thar she blows
Agin!

POLLY
They’re marchin’ to the graves with flowers.

                      LINK

My Godfrey!’t ain’t so much thinkin’ o’ flowers
and the young folks, their faces, and the blue
line of old fellers marchin’—­it’s the music!
that old brass voice a-callin’!  Seems as though,
legs or no legs, I’d have to up and foller
to God-knows-whar, and holler—­holler back
to guns roarin’ in the dark.  No; durn it, no! 
I jest can’t stan’ the music.

                        POLLY
       (goes to the work-bench, where the box is steaming)

                                Uncle Link,
  you want that I should steam this longer?

                        LINK
                    (absently)

                                                Oh,
  A kittleful, a kittleful.

                        POLLY
                (coming over to him)

Now, then,
I’m ready for school.—­I hope I’ve drawed the map
all right.