ich was in a room of a Southern house, whither the wounded
had been carried.

These were busy days at Oak Farm. With the arrival of the two regiments
of the National Guard, pictures were taken every day, leading up to the
big battle scene, which had been postponed. When they were not posing
for the cameras, the guardsmen were drilling in accordance with the
regulations of the annual state encampment under the direction of the
regular army officers.

"Well, have you quite recovered from your wounds?" asked Alice of
Lieutenant Varley one day, as she met him outside the farmhouse.

"Oh, yes, thanks to the care of your sister and yourself. By the way, I
hope your friend Miss Brown is not angry with me."

"Why should she be?"

"Well, because I thought I had seen her before."

"I don't believe she is. I haven't heard her say. But here she comes
now. You can ask her," and Estelle came around the turn of the path.
Seeing Alice talking with the lieutenant, she hesitated, but Alice
called:

"Come on--we were just speaking about you."

"I wondered why my ears burned," laughed Estelle.

"Perhaps you two are going somewhere," said the officer, preparing to
take his leave.

"Oh, to no place where you are not welcome," answered Alice, graciously,
with a side look at her companion to see if Estelle objected. But the
latter gave no sign, one way or the other.

"Thank you!" exclaimed the guardsman. "I have to take part in a little
scene in about an hour, but I would enjoy a walk in the meanwhile. You
are both made up, I see?"

"Yes, we are Southern belles to-day," laughed Alice.

"Belles every day," returned the lieutenant with a bow.

"Nicely said!" laughed Estelle. "You are improving!"

She and Alice wore the costumes of generations ago, big bonnets and
hoopskirts.

"Let's go over and see what they're filming there," suggested Alice,
pointing to where a crossroads store had been put up.

The scene at the store was one to represent a dispute among some
Southerners and some Northern sympathizers. It was to end in a fight in
which one man was to draw his revolver.

All went well up to the quarrel, and then it became too realistic, for,
by some chance, there was a bullet in the revolver instead of a blank
cartridge, and it entered the leg of one of the disputants. He fell and
bled profusely.

"Get Dr. Wherry!" yelled Mr. Pertell.

"Dr. Wherry went into the village this morning to get some stuff," Russ
said, "and