e heard that. It was later. She might have been
nervous, but she fancied somebody was trying to get into the house.

Mr. Brierly humorously suggested that it might be, as none of the members
were occupied in night session.

The Senator frowned, and said he did not like to hear that kind of
newspaper slang. There might be burglars about.

Laura said that very likely it was only her nervousness. But she thought
she world feel safer if Washington would let her take one of his pistols.
Washington brought her one of his revolvers, and instructed her in the
art of loading and firing it.

During the morning Laura drove down to Mrs. Schoonmaker's to pay a
friendly call.

"Your receptions are always delightful," she said to that lady, "the
pleasant people all seem to come here."

"It's pleasant to hear you say so, Miss Hawkins. I believe my friends
like to come here. Though society in Washington is mixed; we have a
little of everything."

"I suppose, though, you don't see much of the old rebel element?" said
Laura with a smile.

If this seemed to Mrs. Schoonmaker a singular remark for a lady to make,
who was meeting "rebels" in society every day, she did not express it in
any way, but only said,

"You know we don't say 'rebel' anymore. Before we came to Washington I
thought rebels would look unlike other people. I find we are very much
alike, and that kindness and good nature wear away prejudice. And then
you know there are all sorts of common interests. My husband sometimes
says that he doesn't see but confederates are just as eager to get at the
treasury as Unionists. You know that Mr. Schoonmaker is on the
appropriations."

"Does he know many Southerners?"

"Oh, yes. There were several at my reception the other day. Among
others a confederate Colonel--a stranger--handsome man with gray hair,
probably you didn't notice him, uses a cane in walking. A very agreeable
man. I wondered why he called. When my husband came home and looked
over the cards, he said he had a cotton claim. A real southerner.
Perhaps you might know him if I could think of his name. Yes, here's his
card--Louisiana."

Laura took the card, looked at it intently till she was sure of the
address, and then laid it down, with,

"No, he is no friend of ours."

That afternoon, Laura wrote and dispatched the following note. It was in
a round hand, unlike her flowing style, and it was directed to a number
and street in Georgetown: