"And then," said Mrs. Payt, her cheeks pink with indignation, and the
essence of belligerency in her excited eyes, "for a moment I sat
petrified, _petrified_ with cold rage, until David Kildare's speech
began--there had never been a greater one delivered in the United States
of America! He said--he said--oh, I don't know what he did say, but it
was--"
"I just feel--" gasped Polly Farrell with a sob, "that I ought to get
down on my knees to him. He's a hero--he's a--"
"Of course for a second I was surprised. I had never heard David Kildare
speak about a--a serious matter before, but I could have expected it,
for his father was a most brilliant lawyer, and his mother's father was
our senator for twenty years and his uncle our ambassador to the court
of--" and Mrs. Peyton's voice trailed off in the clamor.
"Well, I've always known that Cousin Dave was a great man. He ought
to be the president or governor--or _something_. I would vote for him
to-morrow--or that is, I would make some man--I don't know just who--do
it!" And Polly's treble voice again took up the theme of David's praises.
"And think of the old soldiers," said Mrs. Buchanan with a catch in her
breath. "It will hurt them so when they read it. They will think people
are tired of them and that we don't want them to come here in the spring
for the reunion. They are old and feeble and they have had so much to
bear. It was cruel, _cruel_."
"And to think of not wanting the children to see them and know them and
love them--and understand!" Milly's soft voice both broke and blazed.
"I'm going to cry--I'm doing it," sobbed Polly with her head on Phoebe's
shoulder. "I wasn't but twelve when they met here last time and I
followed all the parades and cried for three solid days. It was
delicious. I'm not mad at any Yankee--I'm in love with a man from Boston
and I'm--oh, please, don't anybody tell I said that! I may not be, I just
think so because he is so good-looking and--"
"We must all go out to the Soldier's Home to-morrow, a large committee,
and take every good thing we can think up and make. We must pay them so
much attention that they will let us make a joke of it," said Mrs.
Matilda thinking immediately of the old fellows who "sat in the
sun"--waiting.
"Yes," answered Mrs. Peyton, "and we must go oftener. We want some more
committees. It won't be many years--two were buried last week from the
Home." There was a moment's silence and the sun streamed in across the
deserted tables.
"Oh," murmured Caroline Darrah Brown with her eyes in a blaze, "I can't
stand it, Phoebe. I never felt so before--I who have no right."