am aware of her
feeling about this unhappy strife."

"No. There will be a battle--time enough--soon enough to write
afterwards, if there should be any earthly afterwards."

"You are quite right," said the Secretary. "Good-bye. I envy you your
active share in this game."

Penhallow, as for the last time he went down the outer steps, looked
back at the old brick war-office on Seventeenth Street. He felt the
satisfaction of disagreeable duty well done. Then he recalled with some
sense of it as being rather ridiculous his adventure with Henry Grey. In
a far distant day he would tell Ann. As he halted at the foot of the
steps, he thought of his only interview with Lincoln. The tall figure
with the sombre face left in his memory that haunting sense of the
unusual of which others had spoken and which was apt to disappear upon
more familiar acquaintance.

On the morning of June 28 in this year 1863, Leila riding from the
mills paused a minute to take note of the hillside burial-ground,
dotted here and there with pitiful little linen flags, sole memorials
of son or father--the victims of war. "One never can get away from it,"
she murmured, and rode on into Westways. Sitting in the saddle she waited
patiently at the door of the post-office. Mrs. Crocker was distributing
letters and newspapers. An old Quaker farmer was reading aloud on the
pavement the latest news.

"There ain't no list of killed and wounded," he said. Forgetful of the
creed of his sect, his son was with the army. He read, "The Rebels have
got York--that's sure--and Carlisle too. They are near Harrisburg."

"Oh, but we have burned the bridge over the Susquehanna," said some one.

Another and younger man with his arm in a sling asked, "Are they only
cavalry?"

"No, General Ewell is in command. There are infantry."

"Where is Lee?"

"I don't make that out." They went away one by one, sharing the
uneasiness felt in the great cities.

Leila called out, "Any letters, Mrs. Crocker? This is bad news."

"Here's one for you--it came in a letter to me. I was to give it to you
alone."

Leila tore it open and read it. "Any bad news, Leila?"

"Yes, Uncle James is with the army. I should not have told you.
General Meade is in command. Aunt Ann is not to know. There will be
a battle--after that he will write--after it. Please not to mention
where Uncle Jim is. When is your nephew to be buried--at the mills?"

"At eleven to-morrow."

"I shall be there. Aunt A