"Out with you!
We're among friends here!"
Dick and Warner were glad enough to leave the train. The air, cold as
it was, was like the breath of heaven on their faces, and the cheers of
the people were like the trump of fame in their ears. Pretty girls with
their faces in red hoods or red comforters were there with food and
smoking coffee. Medicines for the wounded, as much as the village could
supply, had been brought to the train, and places were already made for
those hurt too badly to go on with the expedition.
The whole cheerful scene, with its life and movement, the sight of new
faces and the sound of many voices, had a wonderful effect upon young
Dick Mason. He had a marvellously sensitive temperament, a direct
inheritance from his famous border ancestor, Paul Cotter. Things were
always vivid to him. Either they glowed with color, or they were
hueless and dead. This morning the long strain of the night and its
battle was relaxed completely. The grass in the valley was brown with
frost, and the trees were shorn of their leaves by the winter winds,
but to Dick it was the finest village that he had ever seen, and these
were the friendliest people in the world.
He drank a cup of hot coffee handed to him by the stalwart wife of a
farmer, and then, when she insisted, drank another.
"You're young to be fightin'," she said sympathetically.
"We all are," said Dick with a glance at the regiment, "but however we
may fight you'll never find anybody attacking a breakfast with more
valor and spirit than we do.
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