This was enough for Dorothy. Both girls stood up, straightened out their
crushed dresses, patted their red eyes with their handkerchiefs, and
fell in at the end of the line.

"I don't care a bit," said Dorothy smiling. "I would just as soon be
with you any way. And besides, we will be right next to the Veterans."

"Oh, good," answered her companion, "I would rather be there than up
front. Only, of course, you should lead."

The Dalton Drum and Fife Corps was playing loudly. There seemed
something very solemn about the lively tune in honor of the "Boys" who
had answered their last roll call. Tavia's eyes were swimming, and not
a freckle was to be seen beneath the deep red color that framed them.

Dorothy could not talk. It was so sad--that soldiers had to die just
like other persons. She prayed her "Daddy" would not be called for years
and years.

At the corner of the street the school children were joined by the main
column. The veterans fell in--back of Dorothy and Tavia!

Major Dale was grand marshal, and of course came first. He looked
surprised at seeing his daughter--his Little Captain, last in line with
the children.

Then he glanced at Tavia. It was certainly something for which she was
responsible he was sure, for Dorothy had told him she had remained away
from school and missed the last rehearsal. "Halt," called the major, and
his men stood still.