he stirring of many men.

Men? The valley was suddenly alive with them, choking the roads in heavy
silent lines; they were in the lanes, they plodded through the orchards,
they swarmed across the hills, column on column, until the entire
country seemed flowing forward in steady streams. Sandy River awoke,
restlessly listening; lights glimmered behind darkened windows; a
heavier, vaguer rumor grew, hanging along the hills. It increased to a
shaking, throbbing monotone, like the far dissonance of summer thunder!

And now artillery was coming, bumping down the dim street with clatter
of chain and harness jingling.

Up at the great house on the hill they heard it--the boy in his white
nightdress leaning from the open window, and his sleepy sister kneeling
beside him, pushing back her thick hair to peer out into the morning
mist. On came the battery, thudding and clanking, horses on a long
swinging trot, gun, caisson, forge, mounted artillerymen succeeding each
other, faster, faster under the windows. A guidon danced by; more guns,
more caissons, then a trampling, plunging gallop, a rattle of
sabres--and the battery had passed.

"What is that heavy sound behind the hills?" whispered the boy.

"The river rushing over the shallows--perhaps a train on the trestle at
Oxley Court House--" She listened, resting her rounded chin on her
hands. "It is thunder, I think. Go to bed now for a while----"

"Hark!" said the boy, laying his small hand on hers.

"It is thunder," she said again. "How white the dawn is growing. Listen
to the birds--is it not sweet?"

"Celia," whispered the boy, "that is not thunder. It is too hushed, too
steady--it hums and hums and hums. Where was that battery galloping? I
am going to dress."

She looked at him, turned to the east and stared at the coming day. The
air of dawn was full of sounds, ominous, sustained vibrations.

She rose, went back to her room, and lighted a dip. Then, shading the
pallid smoky flame with her hand, she opened a door and peered into the
next bedroom. "Grandfather!" she whispered, smiling, seeing that he was
already awake. And as she leaned over him, searching the dim and
wrinkled eyes, she read something in their unwonted luster that struck
her silent. It was only when she heard her brother's step on the stairs
that she roused herself, bent, and kissed the aged head lying there
inert among the pillows.

"It is cannon," she breathed softly--"you know that sound, don't y