“It is not droll at all,” said Gilian stammering, very much put out. “There are three old soldiers in our house and----”
“One of them Captain Mars, Captain Mars, Who never saw scars!” said the girl mischievously, familiar with the town’s song. “I hope you do not think of being a soldier like Mars. Perhaps that is what my father laughs at when he says the Paymaster is to make you a soldier.”
“Oh, that!” said Gilian, a little relieved. “I thought you were thinking I would not be man enough for a soldier.”
Nan opened the gate and came out to measure herself beside him. “You’re a little bigger than I am,” said she, somewhat regretfully. “Perhaps you will be big enough for a soldier. But what about that when you think you would sooner stay at home and pretend, than go with the army? Did you see the soldier who kissed his hand to me? The liberty!” And she laughed with odd gaiety as if her mood resented the soldier’s freedom.
“He was very thin and little,” said Gilian, enviously.
“I thought he was quite big enough,” said Nan promptly, “and he was so good-looking!”
“Was he?” asked Gilian gloomily. “Well, he was not like the Cornal or the General. They were real soldiers and have seen tremendous wars.”
“I daresay,” said Nan, “but no more than my father. I cannot but wonder at you; with the chance to be a soldier like my father or--or the General, being willing to sit at home pretending or play-acting it in school or----”
“I did not say I would prefer it,” said the boy; “I only said it could be done.”
“I believe you would sooner do it that way than the other,” she said, standing back from him, and looking with shrewd scrutiny. “Oh, I don’t like the kind of boy you are.”
“Except when you are singing, and then you like to have me listening because I understand,” said Gilian, smiling with pleasure at his own astuteness.
She reddened at his discovery and then laughed in some confusion. “You are thinking of the time I sang in the cabin to Black Duncan. You looked so white and curious sitting yonder in the dark, I could have stopped my song and laughed.”
“You could not,” he answered quite boldly, “because your eyes were----”
“Never mind that,” said she abruptly. “I was not speaking of singing or of eyes, but I’m telling you I like men, men, men, the kind of men who do things, brave things, hard things, like soldiers. Oh, I wish I was the soldier who kissed his hand to me! What is pretending and thinking? I can do that in a way at home over my sampler or my white seam. But to be commanding, and fighting the enemies of the country, to be good with the sword and the gun and strong with a horse, like my father!”