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'That's why the stile's pulled away at the paling, I suppose; and Beauty Meg Hawkes, that is is put there to stop us going through; for I often spied the smoke beyond the windmill, observed Milly. Cousin Monica listened with interest, and nodded silently. I was very much shocked. It seemed to me quite incredible.
They struck the breastworks where Stile's and Casement's brigades lay on the extreme left of the federal army. "Their officers showed heroic examples and self-sacrifice," wrote General Cox in his official report, "riding up to our lines in advance of their men, cheering them on. One officer, Adams, was shot down upon the parapet itself, his horse falling across the breastworks."
Her fingers on the crumbling plank of the stile's top tightened and gripped hard. The moonlit landscape seemed to whirl in a dizzy circle. Her face did not betray her, nor her voice, though she had to gulp down a rising lump in her throat before she could answer calmly. "I thinks ye had ought ter go, Samson." The boy was astonished. He had avoided the subject for fear of her opposition and tears.
'Paul, lad, said Armstrong, coming to a sudden serious end of laughter, and wiping his eyes, 'it's not an ungentle heart that finds it delightful to see the fleecy, silly people o' the fields in harmony. And the reflection on the stile's a fine bit o' pathetics. "I've been happy there," says the poor ignorance; "and I may never see it more." It's the etairnal hauntin' thoct o' man in all ages.
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