ld not
stay away from the city long.

It was nearing the middle of autumn when Col. Mason came home to their
rooms one day to find his colleague more disheartened and depressed
than he had ever seen him before. He was lying with his head upon his
folded arm, and when he looked up there were traces of tears upon his
face.

"Why, why, what's the matter now?" asked the old man. "No bad news, I
hope."

"Nothing worse than I should have expected," was the choking answer.
"It's a letter from my wife. She's sick and one of the babies is down,
but"--his voice broke--"she tells me to stay and fight it out. My God,
Mason, I could stand it if she whined or accused me or begged me to
come home, but her patient, long-suffering bravery breaks me all up."

Col. Mason stood up and folded his arms across his big chest. "She's a
brave little woman," he said, gravely. "I wish her husband was as
brave a man." Johnson raised his head and arms from the table where
they were sprawled, as the old man went on: "The hard conditions of
life in our race have taught our women a patience and fortitude which
the women of no other race have ever displayed. They have taught the
men less, and I am sorry, very sorry. The thing, that as much as
anything else, made the blacks such excellent soldiers in the civil
war was their patient endurance of hardship. The softer education of
more prosperous days seems to have weakened this quality. The man who
quails or weakens in this fight of ours against adverse circumstances
would have quailed before--no, he would have run from an enemy on the
field."

"Why, Mason, your mood inspires me. I feel as if I could go forth to
battle cheerfully." For the moment, Johnson's old pomposity had
returned to him, but in the next, a wave of despondency bore it down.
"But that's just it; a body feels as if he could fight if he only had
something to fight. But here you strike out and hit--nothing. It's
only a contest with time. It's waiting--waiting--waiting!"

"In this case, waiting is fighting."

"Well, even that granted, it matters not how grand his cause, the
soldier needs his rations."

"Forage," shot forth the answer like a command.

"Ah, Mason, that's well enough in good country; but the army of
office-seekers has devastated Washington. It has left a track as bare
as lay behind Sherman's troopers." Johnson rose more cheerfully. "I'm
going to the telegraph office," he said as he went out.

A few days after this