s the river--every cloud of dust at the
pontoon bridge--was the signal for a rush to doorstep and porch. Days
passed and the women--not realizing the great difficulties of
transportation--grew impatient to clasp their loved ones once more to
their hearts. False outcries were made every hour, only to result in
sickening disappointment and suspense. At last the evening of the third
day came and, just at dusk, a single horseman turned slowly into
deserted Franklin street.

Making no effort to urge his jaded beast, travel-stained and weary
himself, he let the reins fall from his hands and his head droop upon
his chest. It was some time before any one noticed that he wore the
beloved gray--that he was Major B., one of the bravest and most staunch
of the noble youth Richmond had sent out at the first. Like electricity
the knowledge ran from house to house--"Tom B. has come! The army is
coming!"

Windows, doorsteps and curbstones became alive at the words--each woman
had known him from childhood--had known him joyous, and frank, and ever
gay. Each longed to ask for husband, son, or brother; but all held back
as they saw the dropped head, and felt his sorrow too deep to be
disturbed.

At last one fair wife, surrounded by her young children, stepped into
the road and spoke. The ice was broken. The soldier was surrounded;
fair faces quivering with suspense, looked up to his, as soft voices
begged for news of--"somebody's darling;" and tender hands even patted
the starved beast that had borne the hero home! The broad chest heaved
as it would burst, a great sob shook the stalwart frame, and a huge
teardrop rolled down the cheek that had never changed color in the
hottest flashes of the fight. And then the sturdy soldier--conquering
his emotion but with no shame for it--told all he could and lightened
many a heavy heart. And up to his own door they walked by his side,
bareheaded and in the roadway, and there they left him alone to be
folded in the embrace of the mother to whom he still was "glorious in
the dust."

Next morning a small group of horsemen appeared on the further side of
the pontoons. By some strange intuition, it was known that General Lee
was among them, and a crowd collected all along the route he would
take, silent and bareheaded. There was no excitement, no hurrahing;
but, as the great chief passed, a deep, loving murmur, greater than
these, rose from the very hearts of the crowd. Taking off his hat and
simpl