Before noon, company streets were laid out and lined with tents and,
when the first buggies and rockaways began to roll in from the country,
every boy-soldier was brushed and burnished to defy the stare of
inspection and to quite dazzle the eye of masculine envy or feminine
admiration.

In the centre of the woodland was a big auditorium, where the speaking
was to take place. After the orators were done, there was to be a
regimental review in the bluegrass pasture in front of historic Ashland.
It was at the Colonel's tent, where Crittenden went to pay his respects,
that he found Judith Page, and he stopped for a moment under an oak,
taking in the gay party of women and officers who sat and stood about
the entrance. In the centre of the group stood a lieutenant in the blue
of a regular and with the crossed sabres of the cavalryman on his
neck-band and the number of his regiment. The girl was talking to the
gallant old Colonel with her back to Crittenden, but he would have known
her had he seen but an arm, a shoulder, the poise of her head, a single
gesture--although he had not seen her for years. The figure was the
same--a little fuller, perhaps, but graceful, round, and slender, as was
the throat. The hair was a trifle darker, he thought, but brown still,
and as rich with gold as autumn sunlight. The profile was in outline
now--it was more cleanly cut than ever. The face was a little older, but
still remarkably girlish in spite of its maturer strength; and as she
turned to answer his look, he kept on unconsciously reaffirming to his
memory the broad brow and deep clear eyes, even while his hand was
reaching for the brim of his hat. She showed only gracious surprise at
seeing him and, to his wonder, he was as calm and cool as though he were
welcoming back home any good friend who had been away a long time. He
could now see that the lieutenant belonged to the Tenth United States
Cavalry; he knew that the Tenth was a colored regiment; he understood a