"And my father went back to fight in the Civil War," Saxon said.

"And mine, too," said Billy.

They looked at each other gleefully. Again they had found a new
contact.

"Well, they're all dead, ain't they?" was Bert's saturnine
comment. "There ain't no difference dyin' in battle or in the
poorhouse. The thing is they're deado. I wouldn't care a rap if
my father'd been hanged. It's all the same in a thousand years.
This braggin' about folks makes me tired. Besides, my father
couldn't a-fought. He wasn't born till two years after the war.
Just the same, two of my uncles were killed at Gettysburg. Guess
we done our share."

"Just like that," Mary applauded.

Bert's arm went around her waist again.

"We're here, ain't we?" he said. "An' that's what counts. The
dead are dead, an' you can bet your sweet life they just keep on
stayin' dead."

Mary put her hand over his mouth and began to chide him for his
awfulness, whereupon he kissed the palm of her hand and put his
head closer to hers.

The merry clatter of dishes was increasing as the dining-room
filled up. Here and there voices were raised in snatches of song.