is mother
the events of the morning, Hester burned the dinner. It lay; still
untouched, on the table when the throbbing of drums sent them to the
front steps. Sigel's regiment had swung into the street, drawing in its
wake a seething crowd.

Three persons came out of the big house next door. One was Anna
Brinsmade; and there was her father, his white hairs uncovered. The third
was Jack. His sister was cringing to him appealingly, and he struggling
in her grasp. Out of his coat pocket hung the curved butt of a pepperbox
revolver.

"Let me go, Anne!" he cried. "Do you think I can stay here while my
people are shot down by a lot of damned Dutchman?"

"John," said Mr. Brinsmade, sternly, "I cannot let you join a mob. I
cannot let you shoot at men who carry the Union flag."

"You cannot prevent me, sir," shouted the young man, in a frenzy. "When
foreigners take our flag for them own, it is time for us to shoot them
down."

Wrenching himself free, he ran down the steps and up the street ahead of
the regiment. Then the soldiers and the noisy crowd were upon them and
while these were passing the two stood there as in a dream. After that
silence fell upon the street, and Mr. Brinsmade turned and went back into
the house, his head bowed as in prayer. Stephen and his mother drew back,
but Anne saw them.

"He is a rebel," she faltered. "It will break my father's heart."

She looked at Stephen appealingly, unashamed of the tears in her eyes.
Then she, too went in.

"I cannot stay here mother," he said.

As he slammed the gate, Anne ran down the steps calling his name. He
paused, and she caught his sleeve.

"I knew you would go," she said, "I knew you would go. Oh, Stephen, you
have a cool head. Try to keep Jack--out of mischief."

He left her standing on the pavement. But when he reached the corner and
looked back he saw that she had gone in at his own little gate to meet
his mother. Then he walked rapidly westward. Now and again he was stopped
by feverish questions, but at length he reached the top of the second
ridge from the river, along which crowded Eighteenth Street now runs.
There stood the new double mansion Mr. Spencer Catherwood had built two
years before on the outskirts of the town, with the wall at the side, and
the brick stable and stable yard. As Stephen approached it, the thought
came to him how little this world's goods avail in times of trouble. One
of the big Catherwood boys was in the blue marching