he
window. One was knitting as she walked, one was in deep black, and a
third, a girl, carried a great silver pitcher filled with iced drink for
some near-by convalescent. Two men came next. A negro followed, bearing
a spade. One of the two was in broadcloth, with a high silk hat. "I told
them," he was saying, "better bury her this morning, poor little thing,
before the fighting begins. _She_ won't mind, and it will be hard to
arrange it then--" "Yes, yes," said the second, "better so! Leave
to-morrow for the Dead March from 'Saul.'"

They passed. A church bell began to ring. Miriam moved restlessly. "Is
not mother coming back? She ought to have let me go with her. I can't
knit any more,--the needles are red hot when I touch them,--but I can
sew. I could help her.--If I knew which sewing-room she went to--"

Christianna's hand timidly caressed her. "Better stay here, Miss Miriam.
I'm going to give you another glass of milk now, directly--There's a
soldier passing now."

It proved but a battered soldier--thin and hollow-eyed, arm in a sling,
and a halt in his walk. He came on slowly, and he leaned for rest
against a sycamore at the edge of the pavement. Miriam bent out from the
frame of wistaria. "Oh, soldier! don't you want a glass of milk?"

"Oh, soldier" looked nothing loath. He came over to the little balcony,
and Miriam took the glass from Christianna and, leaning over, gave it to
him. "Oh, but that's nectar!" he said, and drank it. "Yes--just out of
hospital. Said I might go and snuff the battle from afar. Needed my
pallet for some other poor devil. Glad I'm through with it, and sorry he
isn't!--Yes, I've got some friends down the street. Going there now and
get out of this sun. Reckon the battle'll begin presently. Hope the
Accomac Invincibles will give them hell--begging your pardon, I'm sure.
That milk certainly was good. Thank you, and good-bye, Hebe--two Hebes."
He wavered on down the street. Christianna looked after him critically.
"They oughtn't to let that thar man out so soon! Clay white, an' thin as
a bean pole, an' calling things an' people out of their names--"

Men and women continued to pass, the church bell to ring, the hot wind
to blow the dust, the sun to blaze down, the sycamore leaves to rustle.
A negro boy brought a note. It was from Margaret Cleave. "_Dearest:
There is so much to do. I will not come home to dinner nor will Cousin
Harriet neither. She says tell Sarindy to give you two just w