Frank was astonished. He had never suspected that in this stiff, reserved
soldier there dwelt the spirit which, when their tongues are loosed,
makes men eloquent.

Atwater had roused up, and spoken with earnestness. But his glow passed,
and he said quietly,--

"Go on."

"'A man's foes shall be they of his own household.'"

There Frank stopped again, this time of his own accord. The words struck
him with peculiar force.

"That is true too," said Abram; "of the nation, for a nation is a
household; and of many, many families."

Frank studied the words a moment, and, after a struggle with his
feelings, said in a hushed voice,--

"Did you know, Abe, I've a brother in the rebel army?"

"I did not know. I have heard you have one somewhere in the south."

"Yes, you have heard Jack twit me about my secesh brother. And I have
been obliged to own he was a--traitor. And since I left home my folks
have had a letter from him, in which he wrote that he was on the point of
joining the confederate army, and that we would not probably hear from
him again. So I suppose he is fighting against us somewhere."

"Not here, I hope," said Atwater.

"As well here as any where," said Frank. "I always loved my brother. I
love him still. But, as you say, wicked as we are, Christ is in our
cause, and----" Frank read,--

"'He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me; and
he that loveth son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me.'"

"And I," said the boy, lifting up his face with a patriotic, even a
religious, fervor in it, "I love my country, I love the cause of right
and freedom, better than I love my brother!"

"With that true of us, with that love in our hearts," said Atwater, "we
can dare to fight, and whatever the result, I believe it will be well
with us. See what the book says."

And Frank read on.

"'He that findeth his life shall lose it; and he that looseth his life
for my sake shall find it.'"

"That is enough," said Atwater. "I can bind that sentence like an armor
around my heart."

"What does it mean?"

"It means, I think, that though wickedness triumphs, it triumphs to its
own confusion, for it has no immortal life. But even the death of a saint
is victory."

After that the soldier seemed inclined to relapse into revery. Frank
thought he did not wish to talk any more; so he gave him back the book.
Abram put it in his pocket, and took the boy's hand.

"Good night, Frank," he smiling