th a song on her lips,
watching for him to turn the corner as he came back to dinner. But now!
Hark! Was that the beat of the drums? Or was it thunder? Her good
neighbors, the doctor and his wife, come in at the little gate to cheer
her. She does not hear them. Why does God mock her with sunlight and with
friends?

Tramp, tramp, tramp! They are here. Now the band is blaring. That is his
company. And that is his dear face, the second from the end. Will she
ever see it again? Look, he is smiling bravely, as if to say a thousand
tender things. "Will, are the flannels in your knapsack? You have not
forgotten that medicine for your cough?" What courage sublime is that
which lets her wave at him? Well for you, little woman, that you cannot
see the faces of the good doctor and his wife behind you. Oh, those guns
of Sumter, how they roar in your head! Ay, and will roar again, through
forty years of widowhood!

Mrs. Brice was in the little parlor that Friday night, listening to the
cry of the rain outside. Some thoughts such as these distracted her. Why
should she be happy, and other mothers miserable? The day of reckoning
for her happiness must surely come, when she must kiss Stephen a brave
farewell and give him to his country. For the sins of the fathers are
visited on the children, unto the third and fourth generation of them
that hate Him who is the Ruler of all things.

The bell rang, and Stephen went to the door. He was startled to see Mr.
Brinsmade. That gentleman was suddenly aged, and his clothes were wet and
spattered with mud. He sank into a chair, but refused the spirits and
water which Mrs. Brice offered him in her alarm.

"Stephen," he said, "I have been searching the city for John. Did you see
him at Camp Jackson--was he hurt?"

"I think not, sir," Stephen answered, with clear eyes.

"I saw him walking southward after the firing was all over."

"Thank God," exclaimed Mr. Brinsmade, fervently. "If you will excuse me,
madam, I shall hurry to tell my wife and daughter. I have been able to
find no one who saw him."

As he went out he glanced at Stephen's forehead. But for once in his
life, Mr. Brinsmade was too much agitated to inquire about the pain of
another.

"Stephen, you did not tell me that you saw John," said his mother, when
the door was closed.

CHAPTER XX

IN THE ARSENAL

There was a dismal tea at Colonel Carvel's house in Locust Street that
evening Virginia did not touch a mouthful,