s it for a ride?"

"Good; just tell the conductor that I told you to get on."

"Thanks; that's clever. I used to know a soldier who used to run up in
this country," said the stranger, musing. "Dillon; that's it, Dillon."

"I knew him well," said I. "I want to hear about him."

"Queer man," said he, and I noticed he was eying me pretty sharp.

"A good engineer."

"Perhaps," said he.

[Illustration: "I noticed his long, slim hand on the top of the
reverse-lever."]

I coaxed the old veteran to ride on the engine--the first coal-burner I
had had. He seemed more than glad to comply. Ed was as black as a negro,
and swearing about coal-burners in general and this one in particular,
and made so much noise with his fire-irons after we started, that the
old man came over and sat behind me, so as to be able to talk.

The first time I looked around after getting out of the yard, I noticed
his long slim hand on the top of the reverse-lever. Did you ever notice
how it seems to make an ex-engineer feel better and more satisfied to
get his hand on the reverse-lever and feel the life-throbs of the great
giant under him? Why, his hand goes there by instinct--just as an
ambulance surgeon will feel for the heart of the boy with a broken leg.

I asked the stranger to "give her a whirl," and noticed with what eager
joy he took hold of her. I also observed with surprise that he seemed to
know all about "four-mile hill," where most new men got stuck. He caught
me looking at his face, and touching the scar, remarked: "A little love
pat, with the compliments of Wade Hampton's men." We talked on a good
many subjects, and got pretty well acquainted before we were over the
division, but at last we seemed talked out.

"Where does Dillon's folks live now?" asked the stranger, slowly, after
a time.

"M----," said I.

He nearly jumped off the box. "M----? I thought it was Boston!"

"Moved to M----."

"What for?"

"Own a farm there."

"Oh, I see; married again?"

"No."

"No!"

"Widow thought too much of Jim for that."

"No!"

"Yes."

"Er--what became of the young man that they--er--adopted?"

"Lives with 'em yet."

"So!"

Just then we struck the suburbs of M----, and, as we passed the cemetery,
I pointed to a high shaft, and said: "Dillon's monument."

"Why, how's that?"

"Killed at Five Forks. Widow put up monument."

He shaded his eyes with his hand, and peered through the moonlight for a
minute.

"That's cle