ved;
then the men laugh as he is drummed out of the lines--and it's
disgusting."

"I agree with you," said Rivers.

John lighted a fresh pipe and sat down by the fire to get some Christmas
pleasure from the home letter in Leila's large and clear script. His aunt
had ceased to write to him, and had left to her niece this task,
insisting that it should be punctually fulfilled. This time the letter
was brief.

"Of course, my dear John, you know that I am under orders to write to you
once a week."--"Is that explanatory?" thought the reader.--The letter
dealt with the town and mills, the sad condition of Colonel Penhallow,
his aunt's messages and her advice to John in regard to health. The
horses came in for the largest share of a page. And why did he not write
more about himself? She did not suppose that even winter war consisted
only in drawing maps and waiting for Grant to flank Lee out of Petersburg
and Richmond. "War," wrote the young woman, "must be rather a dull
business. Have you no adventures? Tom McGregor wrote his father that you
had a thrilling experience in the trenches lately. The doctor spoke of it
to Aunt Ann, who was surprised I had never mentioned it. Don't dry up
into an old regular like the inspecting major of ordnance at the mills.

"Expectantly yours,

"LEILA GREY.

"A Happy Christmas, Jack."

"Oh, Great Scott!" laughed John. He read it again. Not a word of herself,
nor any of her rides, or of the incessant reading she liked to discuss
with him. Some dim suspicion of the why of this impersonal letter gently
flattered the winged hopefulness of love. "Well, I think I shall punish
you, Miss Grey, for sending me a Christmas letter like that." Oh, the
dear old playmate, the tease, the eyes full of tenderness when the
child's shaft of satire hurt! He laughed gaily as he went through the
historically famous test of courage in snuffing the flaring candle wicks
with his fingers. The little cabin was warm, the night silent, not a
sound came from the lines a mile away to disturb the peaceful memories of
home within the thirty thousand pickets needed to guard our far-spread
army. Men on both sides spoke this Christmas night, for they were often
near and exchanged greetings as they called out, "Halloa, Johnny Reb,
Merry Christmas!"

"Same to you, Yank," and during that sacred night there was the truce of
God and overhead the silence of the solemn stars.

As the young Captain became altogether comfortable