s. Some brought little corpses to be buried.
The father of one, hale and strong when they started, died of pneumonia
in the public lodging-house. The walls of that house could tell many
tales to wring the heart. So could Mr. Brinsmade, did he choose to speak
of his own charities. He found time, between his labors at the big
hospital newly founded, and his correspondence, and his journeys of
love,--between early morning and midnight,--to give some hours a day to
the refugees.

Throughout December they poured in on the afflicted city, already
overtaxed. All the way to Springfield the road was lined with remains of
articles once dear--a child's doll, a little rocking-chair, a colored
print that has hung in the best room, a Bible text.

Anne Brinsmade, driven by Nicodemus, went from house to house to solicit
old clothes, and take them to the crowded place of detention. Christmas
was drawing near--a sorry Christmas, in truth. And many of the wanderers
were unclothed and unfed.

More battles had been fought; factions had arisen among Union men.
Another general had come to St. Louis to take charge of the Department,
and the other with his wondrous body-guard was gone.

The most serious problem confronting the new general--was how to care for
the refugees. A council of citizens was called at headquarters, and the
verdict went forth in the never-to-be-forgotten Orders No. 24.

"Inasmuch," said the General, "as the Secession army had driven these
people from their homes, Secession sympathizers should be made to support
them." He added that the city was unquestionably full of these.

Indignation was rife the day that order was published. Sixty prominent
"disloyalists" were to be chosen and assessed to make up a sum of ten
thousand dollars.

"They may sell my house over my head before I will pay a cent," cried Mr.
Russell. And he meant it. This was the way the others felt. Who were to
be on this mysterious list of "Sixty"? That was the all-absorbing
question of the town. It was an easy matter to pick the conspicuous ones.
Colonel Carvel was sure to be there, and Mr. Catherwood and Mr. Russell
and Mr. James, and Mr. Worington the lawyer. Mrs. Addison Colfax lived
for days in a fermented state of excitement which she declared would
break her down; and which, despite her many cares and worries, gave her
niece not a little amusement. For Virginia was human, and one morning she
went to her aunt's room to read this editorial from