nd," she
answered.

"Look at them and see vich you like te best," he said, "and I vill
tell you te brice."

After a little search, Mrs. Wentworth selected the plainest and most
homely she could find of all the articles she desired, and, turning to
him, inquired what the price would be.

"Te pedstead is forty tollars; te chairs is three tollars apiece; te
taple is twenty tollars; and to washstand is fourteen," he replied.

"And how much will that amount to, altogether?" she asked.

"Eighty-six tollars," he responded.

"Can you take no less, sir?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," he answered. "I have put one brice, and if you don't vant
to pay it you can leave it."

Taking out the desired amount, she paid him without making any further
remark, and requested that they would be sent after her. Calling a
drayman, Mr. Swartz told him to follow her with the furniture, and he
returned to his seat, satisfied with having made sixty dollars on the
eighty-six, received from Mrs. Wentworth, the furniture having been
bought at sheriff's sale for a mere trifle.

Having purchased a few other household utensils, Mrs. Wentworth
proceeded to the Bowman House, from which, after paying her bill, she
removed her children, and, followed by the dray with her furniture,
proceeded to the wretched hovel site had rented. Her stock of money
had now been reduced to less than sixty dollars, and with this she
embarked upon the world with two tender children.

After paying the drayman, who was a kind-hearted negro, and getting
him to erect the bedstead, he departed, and a feeling of desolation
and loneliness spread its dark shadows over the heart of Mrs.
Wentworth. Seating herself on a chair, with her two children clinging
to her knees, the long pent up fountain of grief burst forth, and
tears bedewed the cheeks of the Soldier's Wife; tears, such as only
those who have felt the change of fortune, can shed; tears, which,
like the last despairing cry of the desolate, can only be answered in
heaven!

CHAPTER ELEVENTH.

THE ATTEMPTED ESCAPE.

We must now return to Alfred, whom we left in a disconsolate mood at
Camp Douglas, with his friend trying to cheer his spirits. But he
could think of nothing else but his absent wife, until at last he
determined to attempt an escape. The idea once in his mind could not
be dismissed. He, therefore, informed Harry of his intention, and
asked if he thought it feasible, or likely to result in success.