"Daisy Randolph, you look as solemn as a preacher," said another. "Which side are you on?"
"She is on the right side," said another.
"Of course," said Sally. "She is the daughter of a Southern gentleman."
"I am not on the side of those who fire the first shot," I said.
"There is no other way," said Sally, coolly. "If a rat comes in your way you must shoot him. I knew it had got to come. I have heard my uncle talk enough about that."
"But what will be the end of it?" said another.
"Pooh! It will end like smoke. The Yankees do not like fighting—they would rather be excused, if you please. Their forte is quite in another line—out of the way of powder."
I wondered if that was true. I thought of Thorold, and of Major Blunt. I was troubled; and when I went to see Miss Cardigan, next day, I found she could give me little comfort.
"I don't know, my dear," she said, "what they may be left to do. They're just daft, down there; clean daft."