"I can't help it, Ben."

"Yes, you can--dry up! Soldiers don't cry, Tom."

"Yes, they do, my boy," said Hapgood, who was a little old man, nearly ten
years beyond the period of exemption from military duty. "I don't blame
Tom for crying, and, in my opinion, he'll fight all the better for it."

"Perhaps he will, old un; but I don't think much of a soldier that
blubbers like a baby. I hope he won't run away when he sees the rebels
coming," sneered Ben.

"If he does, he'll have a chance to see how thick the heels of your boots
are," answered the old man.

"What do you mean by that, old un?" demanded Ben.

"Attention--company! Shoulder--arms! Forward--march!" said the captain;
and the discussion was prevented from proceeding any further.

The band, which was at the head of the citizens' column, struck up an
inspiring march, and Tom dried his tears. The escort moved off, followed
by the company. They passed the little cottage of Captain Somers, and Tom
saw the whole family except John, who was in the escort, standing at the
front gate. The old soldier swung his hat, Tom's sisters and his mother
waved their handkerchiefs; but when they saw the soldier boy, they had to
use them for another purpose. Tom felt another upward pressure in the
region of the throat; but this time he choked down his rising emotions,
and saved himself from the ridicule of his more callous companion on the
left.