e to Happy Hills, Pennsylvania. The passport came that day in a
letter for Rebecca explaining how I was to go and to whom I was to
entrust myself. A note for me was inclosed in the letter, and I read it
with a smile. Vernon said he would demand payment for the favor given me
as soon as he reached Happy Hills. Rebecca teased me about that note and
said that she knew what the favor would be, for Vernon was in love with
me. I pooh-poohed the suggestion but felt very glad to pack my clothes
for home. In a few days word came that I was to ride to a certain town
where an escort would meet me and conduct me to the nearest railroad.
And so Imp and I went home."

"And now tell us, Aunt Selina, did Vernon come home and ask that favor?"
wondered Norma, interested in a love-story.

"Oh, yes! He had leave of absence for several months to fully recover
from the wound that had partially punctured a lung. He used to ride over
to Happy Hills every day, and I tell you we missed him when he returned
to his regiment."

"Where is he now, Aunt Selina?" asked Ruth.

"Gone--his name is carved on the monument at Washington for bravery in
the Battle of Bull Run," whispered Aunt Selina.

"Oh, oh, Aunt Selina! Is _he_ the same one you told me about last
spring?" gasped Ruth.

Aunt Selina dabbed her tear-moistened eyes and tried to smile as she
said, "The same, Honey."

"What's that--tell us, Aunt Selina; we never heard about it," cried
several children.

"Well, Vernon came back North about a year after his leave of absence
expired with important letters for a general in Philadelphia. After
delivering the letters he was to have two days' leave in which to go
home and see his folks. He rode over to our house one evening and asked
my father and mother if he might pay court to me when the war was over.
My parents were delighted, for they knew him and liked him. Vernon and I
walked out to the very summer house that Ruth was in when she thought of
the farm plan, and there he told me what he had said to my parents. He
would not bind me, for he said he might never come back. But I said it
would make no difference to me--if he never returned I would wait just
the same. We exchanged rings--one which had been given me for my
birthday and one he had received on his twenty-first birthday. When he
left that night mother gave him a paper, but I never knew what was in it
until later. When news of his bravery and death came home, the letter
contained a r