"How 'bout that, Phoebe?" asked David, once more his daring insistent
self. "Seems it wasn't so young in me after all to think you might thrill
a few glads to see me come prancing up. Now, will you be good?"

And it was only a little over two hours later that the parade moved on
its way from the public square to the park. A goodly show they made and
an interesting one, the grizzled old war-dogs in their faded uniforms
with faces aglow under their tattered caps. They trudged along under
their ragged banners in hearty good will, with now a limp and now a halt
and all of them entirely out of step with the enthusiastic young band in
its natty uniform. They called to one another, chaffed the mounted
officers, sang when the spirit moved them and acted in every way like
boys who were off on the great lark of their lives.

All along the line of march there were crowds to see them and cheer them,
with here and there a white-haired woman who waved her handkerchief and
smiled at them through a rain of tears.

The major rode at the head of a small and straggling division of cavalry
whose men ambled along and guyed one another about the management of
their green livery horses who were inclined to bunch and go wild with the
music.

A few pieces of heavy artillery lumbered by next, and just behind them
came three huge motor-cars packed and jammed with the old fellows who
were too feeble to keep up with the procession. They were most of them
from the Soldiers' Home and in spite of empty coat sleeves and crutches
they bobbed up and down and waved their caps with enthusiasm as cheer
after cheer rose whenever they came into sight.