ladelphia, and she called them down. "Here is your
old friend, Henry Waterman," she joyfully exclaimed. Then guests began
to arrive. It was a reception evening. My hope fell. Some one would
surely recognize me. Presently a gentleman entered, and Mrs. Dana said:
"Colonel Meehan, this is my particular friend, Henry Waterman, who has
been teaching music out in the country, and wants to go up the river.
You will give him a pass, I am sure." It was the provost marshal, who
answered, "certainly." Now was my time for disappearing. But Mrs. Dana
would not listen to this. General Dana would never forgive her if she
let me go. Besides, there was to be a supper and a dance. I sat down
again very much disconcerted. The situation was becoming awkward. Then
Mrs. Dana spoke. "You say you have been teaching music. What is your
instrument?" Saved! "The piano," I answered. The girls escorted me to
the rear drawing-room. It was a new Steinway Grand, just set up, and I
played for my life. If the black bombazine covering my gray uniform did
not break, all would be well. I was having a delightfully good time,
the girls on either hand, when Mrs. Dana, still enthusiastic, ran in and
said, "General Dana is here. Remembers you perfectly. Come and see him."

He stood by a table, tall, sardonic, and as I approached he put out his
hand and said: "You have grown a bit, Henry, my boy, since I saw you
last. How did you leave my friend Forrest?"

I was about making some awkward reply, when, the room already filling
up, he said:

"We have some friends for supper. I am glad you are here. Mamie, my
daughter, take Mr. Watterson to the table!"

Lord! That supper! Canvasback! Terrapin! Champagne! The general had
seated me at his right. Somewhere toward the close those expressive gray
eyes looked at me keenly, and across his wine glass he said:

"I think I understand this. You want to get up the river. You want to
see your mother. Have you money enough to carry you through? If you have
not don't hesitate, for whatever you need I will gladly let you have."

I thanked him. I had quite enough. All was well. We had more music and
some dancing. At a late hour he called the provost marshal.

"Meehan," said he, "take this dangerous young rebel round to the hotel,
register him as Smith, Brown, or something, and send him with a pass up
the river by the first steamer." I was in luck, was I not?

But I made no impression on those girls. Many years after, meeting