ilgrimage across a state has never been
written. Still they came by the hundred, those families. 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. Fo