4. Chapter IV.—The Meeting.
It was evening, it was. The Star of the Evening,
Beautiful Star, shone brilliantly, adorning the sky
with those Neutral tints which have characterized
all British skies ever since this War broke out.
Philander sat on the Canada Line, playing with
his Yardstick, and perhaps about to take the measure
of an unmade piece of calico; when Mabel, with
a wild cry of joy, sprang from a small-boat to his
side. The meeting was too much. They divided a
good square faint between them this time. At last
Philander found his utterance, and said, “Do they
think of me at Home, do they ever think of me?”
“No,” she replied, “but they do at the recruiting
office.”
“Ha! 'tis well.”
“Nay, dearest,” Mabel pleaded, “come home and
go to the war like a man! I will take your place in
the Dry Goods store. True, a musket is a little
heavier than a yardstick, but isn't it a rather more
manly weapon?”
“I don't see it,” was Philander's reply; “besides
this war isn't conducted accordin' to the Constitution
and Union. When it is—when it is, Mabeyuel, I
will return and enlist as a Convalescent!”
“Then, sir,” she said, with much American disgust
in her countenance, “then, sir, farewell!”
“Farewell!” he said, “and When this Cruel
War is Over, pray that we may meet again!”
“Nary!” cried Mabel, her eyes flashing warm fire,
—“nary! None but the Brave deserve the Sanitary
Fair! A man who will desert his country in its hour
of trial would drop Faro checks into the Contribution
Box on Sunday. I hain't Got time to tarry—I
hain't got time to stay!—but here's a gift at parting:
a White Feather: wear it into your hat!”
and She was Gone from his gaze, like a beautiful
dream.
Stung with remorse and mosquitoes, this miserable
young man, in a fit of frenzy, unsheathed his glittering
dry-goods scissors, cut off four yards (good measure)
of the Canada Line, and hanged himself on a
Willow Tree.
Requiescat in Tape. His stick drifted
to My Country 'tis of thee! and may be seen, in
connexion with many others, on the stage of any
New York theatre every night.
The Canadians won't have any line pretty soon.
The skedaddlers will steal it. Then the Canadians
won't know whether they're in the United States or
not, in which case they may be drafted.
Mabel married a Brigadier-General, and is happy.
