er breakfast, when Hester had left the room.

Mrs. Brice dropped her knitting in her lap.

"Why, Stephen?"

"I went down to the Arsenal with the Judge yesterday and saw them
finishing the equipment of the new regiments. Something was in the wind.
Any one could see that from the way Lyon was flying about. I think he
must have proof that the Camp Jackson people have received supplies from
the South."

Mrs. Brice looked fixedly at her son, and then smiled in spite of the
apprehension she felt.

"Is that why you were working over that map of the city last night?" she
asked.

"I was trying to see how Lyon would dispose his troops. I meant to tell
you about a gentleman we met in the street car, a Major Sherman who used
to be in the army. Mr. Brinsmade knows him, and Judge Whipple, and many
other prominent men here. He came to St. Louis some months ago to take
the position of president of the Fifth Street Line. He is the keenest,
the most original man I have ever met. As long as I live I shall never
forget his description of Lyon."

"Is the Major going back into the army?" said Mrs. Brice, Stephen
did not remark the little falter in her voice. He laughed over the
recollection of the conversation in the street car.

"Not unless matters in Washington change to suit him," he said. "He
thinks that things have been very badly managed, and does not scruple
to say so anywhere. I could not have believed it possible that two men
could have talked in public as he and Judge Whipple did yesterday and
not be shot down. I thought that it was as much as a man's life is worth
to mention allegiance to the Union here in a crowd. And the way Mr.
Sherman pitched into the Rebels in that car full of people was enough to
make your hair stand on end."

"He must be a bold man," murmured Mrs. Brice.

"Does he think that the--the Rebellion can be put down?"

"Not with seventy-five thousand men, nor with ten times that number."

Mrs. Brice sighed, and furtively wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

"I am afraid we shall see great misery, Stephen," she said.

He was silent. From that peaceful little room war and its horrors seemed
very far away. The morning sun poured in through the south windows and
was scattered by the silver on the sideboard. From above, on the wall,
Colonel Wilton Brice gazed soberly down. Stephen's eyes lighted on the
portrait, and his thoughts flew back to the boyhood days when he used to
ply his father with questi