"His family is well-to-do," said Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire just
before he began playing once more, "and they'll see that he goes back to
Paris for study as soon as the war is over. If they didn't I would."
It did not seem to occur to Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire that young
de Langeais could be killed, and Harry began to share his confidence.
De Langeais now played the simple songs of the old South, and there was
many a tear in the eyes of war-hardened youth. The sun was setting in
a sea of fire, and the pine forests turned red in its blaze. In the
distance the waters of the Rapidan were crimson, too, and a light wind
out of the west sighed among the pines, forming a subdued chorus to the
violin.
De Langeais began to play a famous old song of home, and Harry's mind
traveled back on its lingering note to his father's beautiful house and
grounds, close by Pendleton, and all the fine country about it, in which
he and Dick Mason and the boys of their age had roamed. He remembered
all the brooks and ponds and the groves that produced the best hickory
nuts. When should he see them again and would his father be there,
and Dick, and all the other boys of their age! Not all! Certainly not
all, because some were gone already.
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