neral like Barnard has an insane
curiosity to reconnoitre. Then the Rebs wake up--and amuse themselves."

Blake laughed. "You are getting pretty near to that growl."

"Am I? I have more than impossible demands to bother me. What with some
despondent letters--I told you about my uncle's wound and the results, I
should have a fierce attack of home-sickness if I had leisure to think at
all."

Blake had found in Penhallow much that he liked and qualities which were
responsive to his own high ideal of the man and the soldier. He looked
him over as the young engineer lay on his camp-bed. "Get anything but
home-sick, Penhallow! I get faint fits of it. The quinine of 'Get up,
captain, and put out those pickets' dismisses it, or bullets. Lord, but
we have had them in over-doses of late. Francis has been hit twice but
not seriously. He says that Lee is an irregular practitioner. It is
strange that some men are hit in every skirmish; it would bleed the
courage out of me."

"Would it? I have had two flesh wounds. They made me furiously angry. You
were speaking of Lee--my uncle greatly admired him. I should like to know
more about him. I had a little chance when we were trying to arrange a
truce to care for the wounded. You remember it failed, but I had a few
minute's talk with a Rebel captain. He liked it when I told him how much
we admired his general. That led him to talk, and among other things he
told me that Lee had no sense of humour and I gathered was a man rather
difficult of approach."

"He might apply to Grant for the rest of his qualities," said Blake. "He
would get it; but what made you ask about sense of the humorous? I have
too little, Francis too much."

"Oh," laughed Penhallow, "from saint to sinner it is a good
medicine--even for home-sickness."

"And the desperate malady of love," returned Blake. "I shall not venture
to diagnose your need. How is that?"

"I?--nonsense," laughed the engineer. "But seriously, Blake, about
home-sickness; one of my best men has it badly--not the mild malady
you and I may have."

"You are quite right. It accounts for some desertions--not to the enemy,
of course. I talked lately of this condition to a Dr. McGregor--"

"McGregor!" returned Penhallow, sitting up. "Where is he? I'd like to see
him--an old comrade."

"He is with our brigade."

"Tell him to look me up. The engineers are easily found just now. He was
an old schoolmate."

"I'll tell him. By the way, Penhallow,