better trade than fighting."

"I thank you for the offer, but my mind turns in other directions.
I'm not depreciating your occupation, Mr. Watson, but I'm interested in
something else."

"I knew that you were not, Lieutenant Mason. You have too much sense.
Your kind could not fight if my kind did not find the sinews, and after
the war the woods will be full of generals, and colonels and majors who
will be glad to get jobs from men like me."

"I've no doubt of it," said Dick, "but what happened this morning made me
think the war is yet far from over."

"We shall see what we shall see, but if you ever want a friend write to
me in Washington. General delivery, there will do. Good-by."

"Good-by," said Dick, and, as he watched the big man walk away, he felt
that he was beginning to understand him. He had never been interested
greatly in mercantile pursuits. Public and literary life and the soil
were the great things to him. Now he realized that the vast strength
of the North, a strength that could survive any number of defeats, lay
largely in her trade and commerce. The South, almost stationary upon the
soil, had fallen behind, and no amount of skill and courage could save
her.

Colonel Winchester gave the young officers who had been awake all night
permission to sleep, and Dick was glad to avail himself of it. He still
felt weak, and ill, and, with a tender smile, remembering his mother's
advice about the blanket, he spread one in the shade of a small oak and
lay down upon it.

Despite the terrible repulse of the morning most of the men had regained
their usual spirits. Several were playing accordions, and the others
were listening. The Winchesters were known as a happy regiment, because
they had an able colonel, strong but firm, efficient and tactful minor
officers. They seldom got into mischief, and always they pooled their
resources.

One lad was reading now to a group from a tattered copy of "Les
Miserables," which had just reached them. He was deep in Waterloo and
Dick heard their comments.

"You wait till the big writers begin to tell about Chickamauga and
Gettysburg and Shiloh," said one. "They'll class with Waterloo or ahead
of it, and the French and English never fought any such campaign as that
when Grant came down through the Wilderness. What's that about the
French riding into the sunken road? I'm willin' to bet it was nothing
but a skirmish beside Pickett's charge at Gettysburg."

"