will which should follow a mighty war.

Harry often went to the bank on the warmer and more sunny days and
leisurely watched the men on the other side. St. Clair, Langdon and
Dalton usually joined him, if their duties allowed. It was well into
March, a dry and warm day, when they sat on a little hillock and gazed
at four of the men in blue who were fishing from a small boat near their
shore. St. Clair was the last to join the little party, and when he
came he was greeted with a yell by the men on the left bank. One of
them put up his hands, trumpet-shaped, to his mouth and called:

"Is that President Davis who has just joined you?"

"No," replied Harry, using his hands in like fashion. "What makes you
think so?"

"Because Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like him. I've got
to put my hands over my eyes to protect them from the blaze of that
uniform."

St. Clair, who wore his new uniform, which was modelled somewhat after
the brilliant fashion of Stuart's, smiled with content. He was making a
great hit.

"You can do all the talking, Harry," he said.

"As I told you, he isn't President Davis," Harry called, "but he's sure,
when he's old enough, to be one of his successors."

"Bet you a dollar, Johnny Reb, that President Davis has no successor."

"Take you, Yank, and I'll collect that bet from you when I ride down
Pennsylvania Avenue in my Confederate uniform at the head of the Army
of Northern Virginia."

"Oh, no, you won't; you'll pay it to me before the State House in
Richmond, with the Army of the Potomac looking on and the Stars and
Stripes waving gracefully over your head."

"Both of you are betting on things too far off," said Langdon, who could
keep out of the conversation no longer. "I'll bet you two dollars that
not one of those four men in the boat catches a fish inside of ten
minutes."

"In Confederate bills or in money?" was called back.

Roars of laughter, from both sides of the Rappahannock, crossed one
another above the middle of the stream.

"What's this?" exclaimed a sharp voice behind the four. "Conversation
with the enemy! It's against all the rules of war!"

They looked around and saw Bertrand, his face flushed and his eyes
sparkling. Harry leaned back lazily, but St. Clair spoke up quickly.

"We've been having conversations off and on with the enemy for two
years," he said. "We've had some mighty hot talks with bullets and
cannon balls, and some not so hot with