[Illustration: THE BOY, WITH A MERE NOD, HURRIED AWAY.]

The sprinkling of great, white daisies in the grass beside her--suppose,
now, this minute, they changed into white handkerchiefs, spread out on
a green counter! Then she would have to sell them to passers-by; it was
her business to sell handkerchiefs. Someone was coming marching up the
road--suppose she tried to sell him one, for the fun of it!--to make a
good story for the girls. Laughing, she got up and leaned on the fence.
She "dared" herself to do it. Then, courteously, "Can I sell you
anything in handkerchiefs to-day? Initialed, embroidered--"

The marching feet stopped. Shrewd old eyes studied her face and
twinkled, responsive to the harmless mischief visible in it.

"You got any with flags on--in the corners or anywhere? Or drums on?"
It was Old '61. "Or red, white an' blue ones? I'd like one o'
_them_--I fit in the war," explanatorily.

"Yes?" The saleswoman was not especially interested in the war; it is
not the way with many of her kind to be interested in things.

"I fit clear through--in the Wilderness, and Bull Run, an' plenty more.
They couldn't get rid o' me, the enemy couldn't! No, sir, where there
was marchin' an' shootin', I was bound to be there! They hit me time 'n'
again, but I didn't waste no unnecessary time in hospittles--I had to
git back to the boys."

She was interested now; she forgot she was to sell him a handkerchief.
"Go on," she said.