ith joy, for we saw once more before us the quiet, smiling
fields of Maryland, with the ease and comfort and plenty of it all
that awaited but our coming to repay us for the years of strife and
blood.

And then at last came the order for us to take up the homeward march.
The men took up the trail with as jaunty a step as when they first
marched to the northward, long years before. The gay uniforms were
faded and gone; rags and tatters had taken their places, while of the
brave banner that was flung to the breeze at the Head of Elk nothing
remained but the staff and a few ribbons that flaunted therefrom.

But every tatter told the tale of a fight where the shot and shell had
torn it as it waved above the charging line, the deadly struggle of
the hand to hand, or marked the slow and sullen retreat.

The men themselves were hardy and bronzed; from their ragged caps to
their soleless shoes they bore the stamp of veterans. They showed the
signs of their training in the angry school of war; wide indeed was
the difference between the gay volunteers of '76 and the hardy
veterans of '82. We swung along in our homeward march with a right
goodwill, and at last came to the broad Potomac and saw the hills of
Maryland beyond.

Now the river itself to the low water-line of the southern bank is
within the boundaries of Maryland. Wishing to be the first across the
line, I rode my horse in to the saddle-girths, and let him drink
thereof.

A day later brought us to Annapolis, where we received the thanks of
the State authorities, and with all due form and ceremony obtained our
discharge and then dispersed to our homes.

That very day I took a canoe, and, crossing the bay, found myself
again on the steps of Fairlee.

Once more my mother leaned on my arm, and, looking up at her tall,
broad-shouldered son, with his epaulets of a Colonel, bronzed face,
and hardy bearing, seemed proud and happy.

CHAPTER XXII

THE COMING OF THE MAID

Many months had passed away, spring had come again, and the fair city
of Annapolis lay in a mass of flowers. The vivid green of the old
trees cast a delightful shade over all, tempting one to stroll through
the quiet streets and byways, past the moss-grown walls, the
old-fashioned gardens, buried in roses, and the stately, proud
mansions of many of Maryland's best and bravest.

I was standing on a step and above me stood Mistresses Polly and Betsy
Johnson, who were railing at me now that I n