“I wish I knew what had happened on this road!” said she.
“Do you suppose there was _fighting_ here?”
“It’s very likely,” said Elizabeth. “There’s got to be fighting,” she went on a little impatiently. “Everything we have has been fought and suffered for, Herbert. Why, look!”
She pulled the old horse up and climbing out of the wagon went to the side of the road.
“Here is a marker with an inscription on it!”
“Either that or he’ll lie down,” answered Elizabeth gayly. “He won’t run, that’s certain.”
First Shot at Gettysburg July 1, 1863, 7.30 A.M. By Captain Jones, Lieut. Riddler and Serg. Shafer
Fired by Captain Jones with Serg. Shafer’s Carbine Co. E. 8th Illinois Cavalry
Then they climbed silently back into the wagon.
A few miles farther on more elaborate monuments greeted their eager eyes, a Union general on horseback and a Union officer, booted and spurred, standing with field-glasses in hand, looking earnestly and inquiringly toward the west from which Elizabeth and Herbert had come.
“The Confederates must have come by our house!” said Herbert.
At the brow of the next hill they saw Gettysburg, spread before them. Beyond another rise they could see white marble shafts. To the right a tall building lifted its cupola above the trees of a thick grove.
“This must be the Seminary,” said Elizabeth. “You remember there was a Seminary Ridge!”
Old Joe traveled slowly down the leafy avenue and at the first house stopped of his own accord. He had been a huckster’s horse, a fact which accounted for various peculiarities.
Elizabeth went into the yard and offered her wares to a lady on the porch. She had looked at Herbert hopefully, but he made no sign of intending to act as agent.
“Good-morning. Do you need any vegetables?”
“Why, yes,” answered the lady. “I shall be glad to have vegetables. Now that we have a curb market in the town, no one stops here.”
“We have onions and peas and lettuce and radishes.”
When the bargain was complete, Elizabeth, in friendly fashion, told who she was. The crisp bill in her hand was an earnest of future success.
“Our grandfather was John Baring who lived in one of the old houses between here and Chambersburg. It stands a little back from the road on the first steep hill above Cashtown. Perhaps you’ve seen it?”