when Frank
shook his head at me from behind her. He said afterward he let her go
on that way, because it kept her from crying over Josephine. As for
the trunk, he should give it to Miss Dix as soon as ever he reached
Washington.

In a week, Frank had got his commission as captain of a company in a
volunteer regiment; he went into camp at Dartford, our chief town, and
set to work in earnest at tactics and drill. The Bowens also went to
Dartford, and the last week in May came back for Josey's wedding. I am
a superstitious creature,--most women are,--and it went to my heart
to have them married in May; but I did not say so, for it seemed
imperative, as the regiment were to leave for Washington in June, early.

The day but one before the wedding was one of those warm, soft days that
so rarely come in May. My windows were open, and the faint scent of
springing grass and opening blossoms came in on every southern breath of
wind. Josey had brought her work over to sit beside me. She was hemming
her wedding-veil,--a long cloud of _tulle_; and as she sat there,
pinching the frail stuff in her fingers, and handling her needle with
such deft little ways, as if they were old friends and understood each
other, there was something so youthful, so unconscious, so wistfully
sweet in her aspect, I could not believe her the same resolute, brave
creature I had seen that night in April.

"Josey," said I, "I don't know how you can be willing to let Frank go."

It was a hard thing for me to say, and I said it without thinking.

She leaned back in her chair, and pinched her hem faster than ever.

"I don't know, either," said she. "I suppose it was because I ought. I
don't think I am so willing now, Sue: it was easy at first, for I was
so angry and grieved about those Massachusetts men; but now, when I get
time to think, I do ache over it! I never let him know; for it is just
the same right now, and he thinks so. Besides, I never let myself grieve
much, even to myself, lest he might find it out. I must keep bright till
he goes. It would be so very hard on him, Susy, to think I was crying at
home."

I said no more,--I could not; and happily for me, Frank came in with
a bunch of wild-flowers, that Josey took with a smile as gay as the
columbines, and a blush that outshone the "pinkster-bloomjes," as our
old Dutch "chore-man" called the wild honeysuckle. A perfect shower of
dew fell from them all over her wedding-veil.

The day of her m