ken stream. A nation had summoned all its
powers for a supreme effort to win, and Dick felt that the issue of the
war was not now in doubt. The genius of Lee and the bravery of his
devoted army could no longer save the South. The hammer strokes of Grant
would surely crush it.

And then what? He had the deepest sympathy for these people of Virginia.
What would become of them after the war? Defeat for the South meant
nearer approach to destruction than any nation had suffered in
generations. To him, born south of the Ohio River, and so closely united
by blood with these people, victory as well as defeat had its pangs.

Warner and Pennington rose and announced that they would return to the
regiment which was held in reserve in a little valley below, but Dick,
their leave not having run out yet, decided to stay a while longer.

"So long," said Warner. "Let the orchard alone. Leave apples for
others. Remember that they are protected by strict orders against all
wandering and irresponsible officers, but ourselves."

"Yes, be good, Dick," said Pennington, and the two went down the slope,
leaving Dick on the portico. He liked being alone at times. The serious
cast of mind that he had inherited from his famous great grandfather,
Paul Cotter, demanded moments of meditation. It was peaceful too on the
portico, and a youth who had been through Grant's Wilderness campaign,
a month of continuous and terrible fighting, was glad to rest for a while.

The distant rifle fire and the occasional cannon shot had no significance
and did not disturb him. They blended now with the breeze that blew
among the leaves of the apple trees. He had never felt more like peace,
and the pleasant open country was soothing to the eye. What a contrast
to that dark and sodden Wilderness where men fought blindly in the dusk.
He shuddered as he remembered the forests set on fire by the shells,
and burning over the fallen.

A light step aroused him and a large man sat down on the bench beside
him. Dick often wondered at the swift and almost noiseless tread of
Shepard, with whom he was becoming well acquainted. He was tall, built
powerfully and must have weighed two hundred pounds, yet he moved with
the ease and grace of a boy of sixteen. Dick thought it must come from
his trade.

"I don't want to intrude, Mr. Mason," said Shepard, "but I saw you
sitting here, looking perhaps too grave and thoughtful for one of your
years."

"You're mo