y was down. The distillation of
sweet clover was in all the air. The little ones at the Old House were
out, in the lengthening shadows of the July afternoon, rolling and
reveling in the perfumed, elastic heaps.

Faith Armstrong stood with Glory, in the porch angle, looking on.

Calm and beautiful. Only the joy of birds and children making sound and
stir across the summer stillness.

Away over the broad face of the earth, out from such peace as this,
might there, if one could look--unroll some vision of horrible contrast?
Were blood, and wrath, and groans, and thunderous roar of guns down
there under that far, fair horizon, stooping in golden beauty to the
cool, green hills?

Faith walked down the field path, presently, to meet her husband, coming
up. He held in his hand an open paper, that he had brought, just now
from the village.

There was news.

Rout, horror, confusion, death, dismay.

The field of Manassas had been fought. The Union armies were falling
back, in disorder, upon Washington.

Breathlessly, with pale faces, and with hands that grasped each other in
a deep excitement that could not come to speech, they read those
columns, together.

Down there, on those Virginian plains, was this.

And they were here, in quiet safety, among the clover blooms, and the
new-cut hay. Elsewhere, men were mown.

"Roger!" said Faith, when, by and by, they had grown calmer over the
fearful tidings, and had had Bible words of peace and cheer for the
fevered and bloody rumors of men--"mightn't we take our wedding journey,
now?"

All the bright, early summer, in those first months of their life
together, they had been finding work to do. Work they had hardly dreamed
of when Faith had feared she might be left to a mere, unworthy, selfish
rest and happiness.

The old New England spirit had roused itself, mightily, in the little
country town. People had forgotten their own needs, and the provision
they were wont to make, at this time, each household for itself. Money
and material, and quick, willing hands were found, and a good work went
on; and kindling zeal, and noble sympathies, and hearty prayers wove
themselves in, with toil of thread and needle, to homely fabrics, and
embalmed, with every finger touch, all whereon they labored.

They had remembered the old struggle wherein their country had been
born. They were glad and proud to bear their burden in this grander one
wherein she was to be born anew, to higher l