There was a bright light in his blue eyes, a meaning smile on his
mustached lip, which in due time I was going to understand.
Kilpatrick was following him. From the rear guard came the crack of
skirmishers. It seemed hard to understand, but the fact was perfectly
evident, that Stuart was retreating.
I had fallen out of the column, and was riding with Tom Herbert. Have
you forgotten that worthy, my dear reader? Has the roar of Gettysburg
driven him quite from your memory? I hope not. I have not mentioned him
for a long time, so many things have diverted me--but we had ridden
together, slept together, fought together, and starved together! Tom
had come to be one of my best friends, in fact, and his charming good
humor beguiled many a weary march. To hear him laugh was real
enjoyment; and when he would suddenly burst forth with,
"Oh look at the riggings
On Billy Barlo--o--o--ow!"
the sternest faces relaxed, the sourest personages could not but laugh.
Brave and honest fop! Where are you to-day, _mon garcon_! I wish I
could see you and hear you sing again!
But I am prosing. Riding beside Tom, I was looking down and thinking of
a certain young lady, when an exclamation from my companion made me
raise my head.
"By George! there's the house, old fellow!"
"The house?"
"Of the famous supper.
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