s letter when he was at a safe
distance.

"Carlton Ives, Thomas' brigade."

"In hospital, Major, but I'll take the letter to him. He's in my
company."

"Stephen Brayton, Lane's brigade."

There was a silence for a moment, and then some one said:

"Dead, at Antietam, sir."

The major put the letter on one side, and called:

"Thomas Langdon, the Invincibles."

Langdon darted forward and seized his letter.

"It's from my father," he said as he glanced at the superscription,
although it was half hidden from him by a mist that suddenly appeared
before his eyes.

"Here, Tom, stand behind us and read it," said Harry, who was waiting in
an anxiety that was positively painful for a letter to himself.

"Henry Lawton, Pender's brigade," called the major. "This is from a
girl, too, and there is a photograph inside. I can feel it. Wish I
could get such a letter myself, Henry."

Lawton, his letter in his hand, retreated rapidly amid envious cheers.

"Charles Carson, Lane's brigade."

"Dead at Fredericksburg, sir; I helped to bury him."

"Thomas Carstairs, Field's brigade."

"Killed at the Second Manassas, sir."

"Richard Graves, Archer's brigade."

"Died in hospital after Antietam, sir."

"David Moulton, Field's brigade."

"Killed nearly a year ago, in the valley, sir."

"William Fitzpatrick, Lane's brigade."

"Taken prisoner at Antietam. Not yet exchanged, sir."

"Herbert Jones, Pender's brigade."

"Killed at South Mountain, sir."

Harry felt a little shiver. The list of those who would never receive
their letters was growing too long. But this delivery of the mail
seemed to run in streaks. Presently it found a streak of the living.
It was a great mail that came that day, the largest the army had yet
received, but the crowd, hungry for a word from home, did not seem to
diminish. The ring continually pressed a little closer.

St. Clair received two letters, and, a long while afterwards, there was
one for Dalton, who, however, had not been so long a time without news,
as the battlefield was his own state, Virginia. Harry watched them with
an envy that he tried to keep down, and after a while he saw that the
heap of letters was becoming very small.

His anxiety became so painful that it was hard to bear. He knew that
his father had been in the thick of the great battle at Stone River,
but not a word from him or about him had ever come. No news in this
case was bad news. If he were alive