I foolishly asked him why. I felt as if I were losing a friend.
"Orders," he answered. Then he put the slip of paper into his pocket,
and leaning down he said:--
"Before I go I am going to ask you to let my corporal pull down your
flags. You may think it cowardly. I think it prudent. They can be
seen a long way. It is silly to wave a red flag at a bull. Any
needless display of bravado on your part would be equally foolish."
So the corporal climbed up and pulled down the big flags, and together
we marched them off to the stable. When I returned to the gate, where
the captain was waiting for the rest of the picket to arrive, I was
surprised to find my French caller of the morning standing there, with a
pretty blonde girl, whom she introduced as her sister-in-law. She
explained that they had started in the morning, but that their wagon had
been overloaded and broken down and they had had to return, and that her
mother was "glad of it." It was perfectly natural that she should ask me
to ask the "English officer if it was safe to stay." I repeated the
question. He looked down at them, asked if they were friends of mine.
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