ng plainer. Just now the chairs, lounges, and card-table were covered
with blue yarn, blue woollen cloth, unbleached cotton, and other things
requisite for the soldiers. They, the soldiers, had worn out the
miserable socks provided by government in two days' marching, and sent
up the cry, to the mothers and sisters in New England, "Give us such
stockings as you are used to knitting for us!"

That home-cry found its answer in every heart. Not a hand but responded.
Every spare moment was given to the needs of the soldiers. For these
were not the materials of a common army. These were all our own
brothers, lovers, husbands, fathers. And shame to the wife, daughter, or
sister who would know them to be sufferers while a finger remained on
their hands to be moved! So, day by day, at soldiers' meetings, but
much more at home, the army of waiters and watchers wrought cheerfully
and hopefully for the loved ones who were "marching along." In Barton we
knitted while we talked, and at the Lyceum lectures. Nay, we threatened
even to take our knitting to meeting,--for it seemed, as we said, a
great waste of time to be sitting so long idle.

This had gone on for more than months. We had begun to count the war by
years. Did we bate one jot of heart or hope for that? No more than at
the beginning. We continued to place the end of the struggle at sixty or
ninety days, as the news came more or less favorable to the loyal cause.
But despair of the Republic? Never. Not the smallest child in Barton.
Not a woman, of course. And through these life-currents flowing between
each soldier and his home, the good heart and courage of the army was
kept up through all those dismal reverses and bloody struggles that
marked the early part of the years of sixty-two and three.

We kept writing to our Barton boys, and took care of them, both in tent
and field. And in every box sent on to the Potomac went letters from all
the soldiers' families, and photographs to show how fast the children
were growing, and how proud the sisters were of the brave brothers who
were upholding the flag at the price of their lives.

We were very busy to-day at Mrs. Lunt's. She and I cut out shirts for
the rest,--and I took an opportunity to carry one to Percy Lunt, with
some directions, in as kind a voice as I could command, about the
sleeves. She smiled and looked up wistfully in my face, but I turned
away in a hurry to my work. Somehow, I could not forgive her for
troubli