Harry, what day is this ?" Harry smiled at the sudden question, but he understood how Sherburne, amid almost continuous battle, had lost sight of time.
"I heard someone say it was the first of June," he replied.
"No later than that?
Why, it seemed to me that it must be nearly autumn.
Do you know, Harry, that on this very day, two years ago, I was up there in those mountains to the west with a jolly camping party.

I was just a boy then, and now here I am an old man." "About twenty-three, I should say." "A good guess, but anyway I've been through enough to make me feel sixty.

I promise you, Harry, that if ever I get through this war alive I'll shoot the man who tries to start another.

Look at the fields! How fine and green they are! Think of all that good land being torn up by the hoofs of cavalry and the wheels of cannon!" "If you are going to be sentimental I'll leave you," said Harry, and the action followed the word.

He rode away, because he was afraid he would grow sentimental himself.
The army continued its peaceful march up the valley and most of the night that followed.