him I am not aware of it."

"That is General Wood."

Helen looked again at the big, slouching figure disappearing at the
corner. The name of Wood was famous in the Confederacy. The greatest of
all the cavalry commanders in a service that had so many, a born
military genius, he was an illiterate mountaineer, belonging to that
despised, and often justly despised, class known in the South as "poor
white trash." But the name of Wood was now famous in every home of the
revolting States. It was said that he could neither read nor write, but
his genius flamed up at the coming of war as certainly as tow blazes at
the touch of fire. Therefore, Helen looked after this singular man with
the deepest interest and curiosity.

"And that slouching, awkward figure is the great Wood!" she said.

"He is not more slouching and awkward than Jackson was."

"I did not mean to attack him," she said quickly.

She had noticed Wood's admiring glance. In fact, it brought a tint of
red to her cheeks, but she was not angry. They were now at her own door.

"I will not ask you to come in," she said, "because I know that your
mother is waiting for you."

"But you will some other time?"

"Yes, some other time."

When he returned to his own house Mrs. Prescott looked at him
inquiringly but said nothing.

CHAPTER III

THE MOSAIC CLUB

Prescott was a staff officer and a captain, bearing a report from the
Commander of the Army of Northern Virginia to the President of the
Confederacy; but having been told in advance that it was perfunctory in
its nature, and that no haste was necessary in its delivery, he waited
until the next morning before seeking the White House, as the residence
of the President was familiarly called at Richmond, in imitation of
Washington. This following of old fashions and old ways often struck
Prescott as a peculiar fact in a country that was rebelling against
them.

"If we succeed in establishing a new republic," he said to himself, "it
will be exactly like the one that we quit."

He was told at the White House that the President was then in conference
with the Secretary of War, but Mr. Sefton would see him. He had heard
often of Mr. Sefton, whose place in the Government was not clearly
defined, but of whose influence there was no doubt. He was usually known
as the Secretary. "The Secretary of what?" "The Secretary of
everything," was the reply.

Mr. Sefton received Prescott in a large dark room that loo