"
"I can't even offer to shake hands," returned Penhallow, laughing, as he
scraped the flakes of mud from his face. "I saw you both at the Bloody
Angle. I think I could describe you."
"Don't," said Francis.
"Some people are modest," said Blake. "I think you will soon dry to dust
in this sun. I have offered myself that consolation before. It's the only
certainty in this land of the unexpected."
"The wagons are over; here comes the guard," said Francis. "It's our
beastly business now. Call up the men, Roland."
"Provost duty, I suppose," said Penhallow. "I prefer my mud."
"Yes," growled Francis, "human scavengers--army police. I'm out of it
this week, thank Heaven."
The last wagon came creaking over the bridge, the long line of cavalry
trotted after them, the Provost Guard mounted to fall in at the rear and
gather in the stragglers.
"Sorry I can't give you a mount," said Blake, as he turned to recross the
bridge.
"Thank you, I have a horse on the other side." As he spoke a breeze
stirred the dead atmosphere and shook down from the trees their gathered
load of dust.
Francis said, "It's half of Virginia!"
Blake murmured, "Dust to dust--a queer reminder."
"Oh, shut up!" cried Francis.
The young engineer laughed and said to himself, "If Aunt Ann could see
me.
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