ame it would be bad faith to
divulge, but whom I know you respect, even if you do not always
agree with him. I mentioned your name and the part you took in the
battle of the Wilderness, and my friend was at once interested,
though, of course, he had known you by name and fame for forty
years. One word led to another, as is usual in these cases, and my
friend mentioned the fact that your son, Neal Dow Ward, is secretary
to John Barclay, and in a position to verify certain evidence which
the government now has in the N.P.C. matter. I happen to know that
the government is exceedingly anxious to be exactly correct in every
charge it makes against this Company, and hence I am writing to you.
Your son can do a service to his country to-day by telling the truth
when he is questioned by Inspector Smith, to my mind as important as
that you did in the Wilderness. Inspector Smith has a right to
question him, and will do so, and I have promised my friend here to
ask you to counsel with your son, and beg him in the name of that
good citizenship for which you have always stood, and for which you
offered your life, to tell the simple truth. As a comrade and a
patriot, I have no doubt what you will do, knowing the facts."

Neal Ward put his hand on the table, with the letter still in his
fingers. "Father," he asked blankly, "do you know what that means?"

"Yes, Neal, I think I understand; it means that to-morrow morning will
decide whether you are a patriot or a perjurer, my boy--a patriot or
a perjurer!" The general, who was in his shirt-sleeves and collarless,
rose, and putting his hands behind him, backed to the radiator to warm
them.

"But, father--father," exclaimed the boy, "how can I? What I learned
was in confidence. How can I?"

The father saw the anguish in his son's face, and did not reply at
once. "Is it crooked, Neal?"

"Yes," replied the son, and then added: "So bad I was going to get out
of it, as soon as Jeanette came home. I couldn't stand it--for a
life, father. But I promised to stay three years, and try, and I think
I should keep my promise."

The father and son were silent for a time, and then the father spoke.
"And you love her with all your life--don't you, Nealie?" The son was
gazing intently at the miniature and nodded. At length the father
sighed. "My poor, poor boy--my poor, poor boy." He walked to the
table on which were his books