your looks that he is another name for sleep. There is no
news of anything big happenin'. We've got a great army here, and Jackson
remains near our battlefield of yesterday. I should say that we number
at least fifty thousand men, or about twice the rebels."

"Then why don't we march against 'em at once?"

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders. It was not for him to tell why
generals did not do things.

"I think," he said, "that we're likely to stay here a day or two."

"Which means," said Dick, his alert mind interpreting at once, "that
our generals don't know what to do. Why is it that they always seem
paralyzed when they get in front of Stonewall Jackson? He's only a man
like the rest of them!"

He spoke with perfect freedom in the presence of Sergeant Whitley,
knowing that he would repeat nothing.

"A man, yes," said Warner, in his precise manner, "but not exactly like
the others. He seems to have more of the lightning flash about him. What
a pity such a leader should be on the wrong side! Perhaps we'll have his
equal in time."

"Is Jackson's army just sitting still?" asked Dick.

"So far as scouts can gather, an' I've been one of them," replied
Sergeant Whitley, "it seems to be just campin'. But I wish I knew which
way it was goin' to jump. I don't trust Jackson when he seems to be
nappin'."

But the good sergeant's doubts were to remain for two days at least. The
two armies sat still, only two miles apart, and sentinels, as was common
throughout the great war, became friendly with one another. Often they
met in the woods and exchanged news and abundant criticism of generals.
At last there was a truce to bury the dead who still lay upon the
sanguinary field of Cedar Run.

Dick was in charge of one of these burial parties, and toward the close
of the day he saw a familiar figure, also in command of a burial party,
although it was in a gray uniform. His heart began to thump, and
he uttered a cry of joy. The unexpected, but not the unnatural, had
happened.

"Oh, Harry! Harry!" he shouted.

The strong young figure in the uniform of a lieutenant in the Southern
army turned in surprise at the sound of a familiar voice, and stood,
staring.

"Dick! Dick Mason!" he cried. Then the two sprang forward and grasped
the hands of each other. There was no display of emotion--they were of
the stern American stock, taught not to show its feelings--but their
eyes showed their gladness.

"Harry," said Dick, "I knew th