Char. I've seen the cloth before--the dress you had last winter.
But what--I don't quite see--what is it now?

Bev (who has been trying to contain himself, comes nearer,
speaking in a glad, excited voice). It's my uniform. I'm going to fight
before so very long, and Fair is making it for me.

Char (taking the little coat tenderly in her hands). But your
mother, Bev!

Fair. Oh, we're going to tell her, but not now. She'll let Bev go
when he is needed, and so I am making this to have it ready. It isn't
very nice, I know. You see, I never made a coat before, and the cloth is
old and thin and not the right color; but it's all I have. I wish I had
the finest uniform in the world for Bev, but this will have to do. (Her
voice falters for a second). And--I'm making it myself.

Bev. Why, Fair, you know I wouldn't wear any uniform but this,
even if I had a dozen. The buttons are those the boys gave me off their
coats, and the rank on the sleeve is all embroidered. I wouldn't trade
with any of them--not even General Morgan.

Char. (putting her arm around Fair). You precious little Fair,
there's not a better uniform in all the South than this, but can't I
help you with it? I'd love to; may I, dear?

Fair. If you'll show me how to put in the sleeve, I'd love it;
but I'd rather do the work all by myself, please. You see, Bev's going
to be such a great, brave soldier in this coat. I'd like to think
I'd made it all myself.