THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes, 
 
 I. LENA EIVEES. 
 H. TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE. 
 m. MEADOW BEOOK. 
 IV. ENGLISH ORPHANS. 
 
 V. HUGH WOETHINGTON. 
 
 VI. DAEKNESS AND DAYLIGHT. 
 VH. MABIAN GEET. 
 Vm. DOEA DEANE. 
 IX. COUSIN MAUDE. 
 X. HOMESTEAD ON THE HILLSIDE. 
 XL THE CAMEEON PETDE. 
 
 xn. EOSE MATHEB. (Just Published.) 
 
 Mrs. Holmes is a peculiarly pleasant and fascinating 
 writer. Her books are always entertaining, and 
 she has the rare faculty of enlisting the 
 sympathy and affections of her read 
 ers, and of holding their at 
 tention to her pages with 
 deep and absorb 
 ing inter 
 est 
 
 All published uniform with this volume, at $1.50, and sent 
 free by mail, on receipt of price by 
 
 G. W. CARL.ETON fc CO., Publishers, 
 New York.
 
 ROSE MATHER: 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, 
 
 AXJTHOB OF "TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE," '"LENA EITEBS," "THE CAMERON 
 PE1DE," ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW TOEK : 
 
 G-. W. CARLETON & Co., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 LONDON : 8. LOW, SON & CO. 
 MDCCCLXVm.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, bv 
 DANIEL HOLMES, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the 
 Northern District of New York. 

 
 PS 
 
 To 
 
 THE SOLDIERS LIVING, 
 
 AND 
 
 EUmors of tfct ^olUters 
 
 THIS STORY OP THE WAB 
 
 IS GRATEFULLY I>"SCRIBED BT 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 BBOWN C!OTTAGE, Brockport, N. Y. 
 
 1671114
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. THE WAB MEETING 9 
 
 IE. ROSE AND ANNIE 20 
 
 HI. THE DEPAKTUEE 35 
 
 IV. WILL AND BEOTHEB TOM , . 50 
 
 V. JIMMTE 67 
 
 VI. FINDING SOMETHING TO DO FOE THE WAS 81 
 
 VII. THE BATTLE 87 
 
 VIII. THE RETEEAT 98 
 
 IX. THE REBEL AND THE YANKEE Ill 
 
 X. NEWS OF THE BATTLE AT ROCKLAND 121 
 
 XI. THE WOUNDED SOLDIEB 134 
 
 XII. GETTING READY 142 
 
 XTTL THE DYING SOLDIEB 150 
 
 XIV. MATTEES IN ROCKLAND 158 
 
 XV. THE DESEETEE 165 
 
 XVI. NEWS DlEECT FEOM JlMMIE 179 
 
 XVII. THE CONFEDEBATE SOLDIEB's WELCOME TO ROCK- 
 
 LAND 191 
 
 XVm. THE RICHMOND CAPTIVES 208 
 
 XIX. TOM'S RECEPTION 224 
 
 XX. AT THE MATHEB MANSION 248 
 
 XXI. "NOT LONG FOB THIS WOULD.". 259 
 
 XXH. THE WOUNDED SOLDIEB 269 
 
 XXIII. TOM AND JIMMIE 283 
 
 XXTV. THE RESULTS OF THE BATTLE.., ,. 289
 
 Viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XXV. GETTYSBUEGH. 292 
 
 XXVL COUESE OF EVENTS 296 
 
 XXVIL THE HUNTED SOLDIEE 304 
 
 XXVm. THE DEAD ALIVE 318 
 
 XXIX. THE HEBOINE OF THE MOUNTAIN 322 
 
 XXX. ABTHUB AND MAUDE 337 
 
 XXXL MAUDE AND TOM 343 
 
 XXXIL SUSPICION 353 
 
 XXXHL IN THE CAVE 359 
 
 XXXIV. Poos AETHUE 368 
 
 XXXV. THE DEAD AND THE LIVING 373 
 
 XXXVI. ANDEESONVILLE PBISONEES 377 
 
 XXXVEL IN ROCKLAND 385 
 
 XXXVUL THE LOVEES 392 
 
 XXXIX. CHAEUE... 397
 
 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE WAR MEETING. 
 
 'f'Wl 
 
 jjgH^HE long disputed point as to whether the South 
 was in earnest or not was settled, and through 
 the Northern States the tidings flew that Sumter 
 had fallen and the war had commenced. With the first 
 gun which boomed across the waters of Charleston bay, 
 it was ushered in, and they who had cried, "Peace! 
 peace!" found at last "there was no peace." Then, and 
 not till then, did the nation rise from its lethargic slum 
 ber and shake off the delusion with which it had so long 
 been bound. Political differences were forgotten. Re 
 publicans and Democrats struck the friendly hand, pulse 
 beat to pulse, heart throbbed to heart, and the watch 
 word everywhere was, " The Union forever." Through 
 out the length and breadth of the land were true, loyal 
 hearts, and as at Rhoderic Dhu's command the High 
 landers sprang to view from every clump of heather on 
 the wild moors of Scotland, so when the war-cry came 
 up from Sumter our own Highlanders arose, a mighty 
 host, responsive to the call; some from New England's 
 templed hills, with hands inured to toil, and hearts as
 
 10 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 strong and true as flint; some from the Empire, some 
 the Keystone State, and others from the prairies of 
 the distant West. It mattered not what place had given 
 them birth; it mattered little whether the Green Moun 
 tains of Vermont, the granite hills of New Hampshire, or 
 the shadowy forests of Wisconsin had sheltered their 
 childhood's home; united in one cause they rallied round 
 the Stars and Stripes, and went forth to meet, not a 
 foreign foe, out alas, to raise a brother's arm against 
 another brother's arm in that most dreadful of all anar 
 chies, a national civil war. 
 
 In the usually quiet village of Rockland the utmost in 
 terest was felt, and though there, as elsewhere, were 
 many whose hearts beat as warmly for their Southern 
 friends as when the sun shone on a nation at peace, all 
 felt the necessity of action, and when at last the even 
 ing came in which the first war meeting of that place 
 was to be held, a dense and promiscuous crowd wended 
 its way to the old brick church, whose hallowed walls 
 echoed to the sound of fife and drum, strange music for 
 the house of God, but more acceptable, in that dark 
 hour, than songs of praise sung by vain and thoughtless 
 lips. In the centre of the church, the men were mostly 
 congregated, while the seats nearest the door were oc 
 cupied by the women, the wives and mothers and sisters 
 who had come with aching hearts to see their brothers, 
 sons and husbands give their signatures to what seemed 
 their sure death warrant. Conspicuous among these was 
 Widow Simms, whose old-fashioned leghorn, with its 
 faded green veil, was visible at all public gatherings, 
 its broad frill of lace shading a pair of sharp grey eyes, 
 and a rather peculiar face. It was very white now, and 
 the thin lips were firmly compressed as the widow tried 
 to look resolute and unconcerned when two of her sons
 
 THE WAR MEETING. 11 
 
 went forward, their faces glowing with youthful enthu 
 siasm, as they heard the President repeat their names, 
 " John Simms, Eli Simms." The widow involuntarily 
 said it after him, her mother's heart whispering within 
 her, "Isaac won't go. He's too young. I can't give 
 Isaac up," and her eye wandered to where her youngest 
 boy was sitting, twirling his old cloth cap, and occa 
 sionally exchanging a word with the young man next to 
 him, William Baker, who, together with his brother, 
 arose, to follow John and Eli Simms. 
 
 Scarcely, however, had they risen to their feet, when 
 a woman occupying the same seat with Widow Simms, 
 uttered a cry more like the moaning howl of some wild 
 beast, than like a human sound. 
 
 "No, Harry, no, Bill no, no," and the bony arms 
 were flung wildly toward the two young men, who, with 
 a dogged, indignant glance at her, fell back among the 
 crowd where they could not be seen, muttering some 
 thing not .very complimentary to " the old woman," as 
 they called her. 
 
 But the old woman did not hear it, and if she had, it 
 would have made no difference. It mattered not to her 
 that they had ever been the veriest pests in the whole 
 village, the planners of every grade of mischief, the rob 
 bers of barns and plunderers of orchards, they were her 
 boys, and she didn't want them shot, so she continued 
 to moan and cry, muttering incoherently about the rich 
 treading down the poor, and wondering why Judge War 
 ner didn't send his own white fingered sons, if he thought 
 going to war was so nice. 
 
 " I wouldn't make such a fuss, let what would happen 
 to me," said the Widow Simms, casting a half contemp 
 tuous glance upon the weeping woman, whom she evi 
 dently considered far beneath her, and adding, " They had
 
 12 EOSE MATHEB. 
 
 'nough-sight better be shot than hung," as an aside to the 
 young woman just behind her,- sweet Annie Graham, 
 who was holding fast to her husband's hand, as if she 
 would thus keep him in spite of the speaker's eloquent 
 appeals, and the whispers of his companions, who were 
 urging him to join the company forming so rapidly be 
 fore the altar. 
 
 There was a terrible struggle going on in Annie Gra 
 ham's breast, duty to her country and love for her hus 
 band waging a mighty conflict, the former telling her 
 that if the right would triumph, somebody's husband 
 must go, and the wife-heart crying out, "Yes, somebody's 
 husband must go, I know, but not mine, not George." 
 
 Very tenderly George Graham's strong arm encircled 
 the girlish form, and when he saw how fast the tears 
 came to the great dreamy eyes of blue, and thought how 
 frail was the wife of little more than a year, he bent 
 down until his chin rested on her pale brown hair, and 
 whispered softly to her, 
 
 " Don't, Annie, darling, you know I will never go un 
 less you think I ought, and give your free consent." 
 
 Had George Graham wished, he could not have chosen 
 a more powerful argument than the words, " Unless you 
 think I ought." 
 
 Annie repeated them to herself again and again, until 
 consciousness of all else around her was forgotten in that 
 one question of duty. She heard no longer the second 
 speaker, whose burning eloquence was stirring up hitherto 
 reluctant young men to place their names beside others 
 already pledged to their country's cause. Leaning for 
 ward so that her forehead rested on the railing in front, 
 she tried to pray, but flesh and strength were weak, and 
 the prayer ended always with the unuttered cry, " I can 
 not let George go," while the fingers twined more and
 
 THE WAR MEETING. 13 
 
 more closely around the broad, warm hand, which sought 
 awhile to reassure her, and then was withdrawn from her 
 grasp as George arose and politely offered his seat to a 
 lady who had just arrived, and who, after glancing an 
 instant at his coat, accepted his civility as a matter of 
 course, but withheld the thanks she would have accorded 
 to one whom she considered her equal 
 
 Spreading out her wide skirt of rich blue silk so that 
 it nearly covered poor Annie, she threw her crimson 
 scarf across the railing in front, hitting Widow Simms, 
 and so diverting the attention of Mrs. Baker, that the 
 latter ceased her crying, while the widow turned with an 
 expression half curious, half indignant. Annie, too, 
 attracted by the heavy fringe and softly-blended colors 
 of the scarf, a part of which had fallen upon her lap, as 
 the widow shook it from her shoulder with a jerk, stole a 
 glance at the new comer, in whom she recognized the 
 bride, the beauty, the envied belle of Rockland, Rose 
 Mather, from Boston, and wife of the wealthy and aris 
 tocratic William Mather, who three months before had 
 ended the strife between the Rockland ladies as to what 
 fair hand should spend his gold, and drive his iron greys, 
 by bringing to his elegant mansion a fairy little creature 
 with whose exquisite beauty even the most fastidious 
 could not find fault. Childish in proportions, and per 
 fect in form and feature, she would have bee~ handsome 
 without the aid of the dancing brown eyes, and chestnut 
 curls which shaded her girlish brow. Rose knew she 
 was pretty, knew she was stylish, knew she was fascin 
 ating, knew she was just then the rage, and as such 
 could do and say what she pleased. Sweeping back 
 her chestnut hair with her snowy hand, she gave one 
 rapid glance at the sea of heads around her, and then, in 
 a half petulant tone, exclaimed to her companion !
 
 14 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 " I don't believe "Will is here. I can't see him any 
 where." 
 
 " Didn't you know he had enlisted ?" asked a young 
 man, who had made his way through the crowd, and 
 joined her. 
 
 For an instant the bright color faded from Rose 
 Mather's cheek, but it quickly returned as she read in 
 Mr. Wentworth's eye, a contradiction of his words. 
 
 "Will enlisted!" she repeated. " Such people as Will 
 don't go to the war. It's a very different class, such, for 
 instance, as that one going up to sign. Upon my word, 
 it's the boy who saws our wood !" and she pointed' at 
 the youth, offering himself up that just such people as 
 Hose Mather, radiant in silks and diamonds, and lace, 
 might rest in peace at home, knowing nothing of war, 
 and its attendant horrors, save what came to her through 
 the daily prints. 
 
 Widow Simms heard the remark, and with a swelling 
 heart turned toward the boy who sawed Rose Mather's 
 wood, for she knew who it was, and it did not need the 
 loud whisper of Mrs. Baker to tell her that it was her boy, 
 the youngest of the three, the one she loved the best, the 
 baby, who kept the milk of human kindness from turning 
 quite sour within her breast by his many acts of filial love, 
 and his gentle, caressing ways. How could she give him 
 up, her darling, her idol, the one so like his father, dead 
 ere he was born ? Who would comfort her as he had 
 done ? W T ho would give her the good-night kiss, timidly, 
 stealthily, lest the older ones should see and laugh at his 
 girlish weakness ? Who would bring his weekly earnings, 
 and empty them slily into her lap ? Who would find her 
 place in the prayer-book on Sunday, and pound her 
 clothes on Monday, long before it was light? Who 
 would split the nice fine kindlings for the morning fire,
 
 THE WAR MEETING. 15 
 
 or bring the cool fresh water in the summer from the 
 farther well, and who, when her head was aching sadly, 
 would make the cup of tea she liked so much ? Homely 
 offices, many of them, it is true, but they made up the 
 sum of that mother's happiness, and it is not strange 
 that, for a moment, the iron will gave way, and the poor 
 widow wept over her cruel bereavement, not noisily, as 
 Mrs. Baker had done, but silently, bitterly, her body 
 trembling nervously, and her whole attitude indicative of 
 keen, unaffected anguish. 
 
 Rose did not know the relationship existing between 
 the widow and the boy who sawed her wood, but her 
 better nature was touched always at the sight of distress, 
 and for several minutes, she did not speak except to tell 
 Mr. Wentworth how much Brother Tom had paid for the 
 crimson scarf, one end of which he was twirling around 
 his wrist. To Annie it seemed an enormous sum, and a 
 little over-awed with her close proximity to one who 
 could sport so expensive an article of dress, she involun 
 tarily tried to move away, and avoid, if possible, being 
 noticed by the brilliant belle. She might have spared 
 herself the trouble, for Rose was too much absorbed with 
 the group of admirers gathering around her to heed 
 the shrinking figure at her side, and, after a time, as 
 Widow Simms recovered her composure, she resumed 
 her gay badinage, bringing in Will with every other 
 breath, and showing how completely her heart was bound 
 up in her husband, notwithstanding the evident satisfac 
 tion with which she received the flattering compliments 
 of the gentlemen who, since her arrival at Rockland, had 
 made it a point to admire and flirt with the little Boston 
 belle, laughing loudly at speeches which, from one less 
 piquant and attractive, would have been pronounced 
 decidedly silly and meaningless.
 
 16 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 Eose was not well posted with regard to the object of 
 that meeting. She knew that Sumter or Charleston had 
 been fired upon, she hardly could tell which, for she was 
 far too sleepy when Will read the news to comprehend 
 clearly what it was all about, and she had skipped every 
 word which Brother Tom had written about it in his last 
 letter, the one in which he enclosed five hundred dollars 
 for the silver tea-set she saw in Kochester, and wanted 
 so badly. Rose was an accomplished musician, a tolera 
 ble proficient in both French and German, and had 
 skimmed nearly all the higher branches, but like many 
 fashionably educated young ladies, her knowledge of 
 geography comprised a confused medley of cities, towns 
 and villages, scattered promiscuously over the face of the 
 earth, but which was where she could not pretend to tell ; 
 and were it not that Brother Tom had spent three win 
 ters in Charleston, leaving at last his fair-haired wife 
 sleeping there beneath the Southern sky, she would 
 scarcely have known whether the waters of the Atlantic 
 or of Baffin's Bay, washed the shore of the Palmetto 
 State. And still Rose was not a fool in the ordinary ac 
 ceptation of the term. She knew as much or more than 
 half the petted belles of modern society, and could say 
 smart foolish things with so pretty an air of childish 
 ness, that even those of her own sex who were at first 
 most prejudiced against her, confessed that she was cer 
 tainly very captivating, and possessed the art of making 
 everybody like her, even if she hadn't common sense ! 
 
 On this occasion she chatted on in her usual style, 
 provoking from George Graham more than one good- 
 humored smile at remarks which evinced so much igno 
 rance of the matter then agitating the entire community. 
 
 "Will wouldn't go to the war, of course," she said; 
 " supposing there were one, which she greatly doubted,
 
 THE WAR MEETING. 17 
 
 Northern men, particularly those of Eockland, were so 
 hateful toward the South. She didn't believe Boston 
 people were that way at all At least, Brother Tom 
 was not, and he knew ; he had lived in Charleston, 
 and described them as very nice folks. Indeed, she 
 knew they were, herself, for she always met them at 
 Newport, and liked them so much. She didn't credit one 
 word of what the papers said. She presumed Mr. An- 
 derson provoked them. Tom knew him personally." 
 
 " You have another brother besides Tom won't he 
 join the army ?" asked Mr. Wentworth, a smile curling 
 the corners of his mouth. 
 
 Rose sighed involuntarily, for on the subject of that 
 other brother she was a little sore, and the mention of him 
 always gave her pain. He was not like Brother Tom, the 
 eldest, the pride of the Carleton family. He was Jimmie, 
 handsome, rollicking, mischievous Jimmie, to those who 
 loved him best, while to the Boston people, who knew 
 him best, he was " that young scapegrace, Jim Carleton, 
 destined for the gallows, or some other ignominious 
 end," a prediction which seemed likely to be verified at 
 the time when he nearly broke a comrade's head for call 
 ing him a liar, and so was expelled from college, covered 
 with disgrace. Something of this was known to Mr. 
 "Wentworth, and he asked the question he did, just to see 
 what Eose would say. But if he thought she would at 
 tempt to conceal anything pertaining to herself, or any 
 one else, for that matter, he was mistaken. Eose was 
 too truthful for anything like duplicity, and she frankly 
 answered: 
 
 " "We don't know where Jimmie is. They turned him 
 out of college, and then he ran away. It's more than a 
 year since we heard from him. He 'was in Southern 
 Virginia, then. Mother thinks he's dead, or he would
 
 18 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 sure y write to some of us," and a tear glittered in Kose'a 
 eyes, as she thought of recreant Jimmie, sleeping else 
 where than in the family vault at beautiful Mt. Auburn. 
 Rose could not, however, be unhappy long over what was 
 a mere speculation, and after a few moments she resumed 
 the subject of her husband's volunteering. 
 
 " She knew he wouldn't, even if he did vote for Lin 
 coln. She was not one bit concerned, for no man who 
 loved his wife as he ought, would want to go and leave 
 her," and the little lady stroked her luxuriant curls 
 coquettishly, spreading out still wider her silken robe, 
 which now completely covered the plain shilling calico of 
 poor Annie, whose heart for a moment beat almost to 
 bursting as she asked herself if it were true, that no man 
 who loved his wife as he ought, would want to go and 
 leave her. In a moment, however, she repelled the as 
 sertion as false, for George had given too many proofs 
 of his devotion for her to doubt him now, even though 
 he had expressed a desire to join the army. Then she 
 wished she was at home, where she could not hear what 
 Rose Mather said, and she was about proposing to 
 George that they should leave, when Mr. Mather himself 
 appeared, and she concluded to remain. He was a 
 haughty-looking man, very fond of his little wife, on 
 whose shoulder he laid his hand caressingly, as he 
 asked "what she thought of war now?" 
 
 " I just think it is horrid !" and Rose's fat hand stole 
 up to meet her husband's; "Mr. Wentworth tried to 
 make me think you had volunteered, but I knew better. 
 The idea of your going off 'with such frights ! Why, Will, 
 you can't begin to guess what a queer-looking set they 
 are. There was our milkman, and the boy who sawa 
 our wood, and canal-drivers, and peddlers, and me 
 chanics, and "
 
 THE WAE MEETING. 19 
 
 Rose did not finish the sentence, for something in her 
 husband's expression stopped her. He had caught the 
 quick uplifting of Annie Graham's head, had noted the 
 indignant flashing of her blue eye, the kindling spot on 
 her cheek, and glancing at George, he saw at once how 
 Hose's thoughtless words must have wounded her. He 
 had seen the disgusted expression of Widow Simms, as 
 she flounced out into the aisle, and knowing that the 
 " boy who sawed his wood," was her son, he felt sorry 
 that his wife should have been so indiscreet. Still, he 
 could not be angry at the sparkling little creature chat 
 ting so like a parrot, but he felt impelled to say: 
 
 " You should not judge people by their dress or occu 
 pation. The boy who saws our wood has a heart larger 
 than many who make far more pretensions." 
 
 Eose tried to pout at what she knew to have been in 
 tended as a reprimand, but in the excitement of the jam 
 as they passed out of the church, she forgot it entirely, 
 only once uttering an impatient ejaculation as some one 
 inadvertently stepped upon her sweeping skirt, and so 
 held her for a moment, producing the sensation which 
 nearly every woman experiences when she feels a sudden 
 backward pull, as if skirt and waist were parting company. 
 
 With the hasty exclamation, " Who is stepping on me, 
 I'd like to know ?" she turned just in time to hear Annie 
 Graham's politely-spoken words of apology: 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam ; they push me so behind 
 that I could not help it." 
 
 " It isn't the least bit of matter," returned Eose, dis 
 armed at once of all resentment, by Annie's lady-like 
 manner, and the expression of the face, on which traces 
 of tears were still lingering. 
 
 " Who is that, Will ?" she whispered, as they emerged 
 into the moonlight, and George Graham's tall form was 
 plainly discernible, together with that of his wife.
 
 20 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 Will told her who it was, and Rose rejoined : 
 " He has volunteered, I 'most know. Poor, isn't he ?" 
 "Not very rich, most certainly," was Mr. Mather's 
 reply. 
 
 "Then I guess he's going to the war," was Eose's 
 mental comment, as if poverty were the sole accomplish 
 ment necessary for a soldier to possess, a conclusion to 
 which older and wiser heads than hers seemed at one 
 time to have arrived. 
 
 Annie Graham heard both question and answer, and 
 with emotions not particularly pleasant she whispered 
 to herself : 
 
 " Eose Mather shall see that one man at least will not 
 go, even if he is a mechanic and poor !" and clinging 
 closer to George's arm, she walked on in silence, think 
 ing bitter thoughts of the little lady, who, delighted with 
 having Witt on one side of her, and Mr. Wentworth, his 
 partner, on the other, tripped gaily on, laughing as 
 lightly as if on the country's horizon there were no dark, 
 threatening cloud, which might yet overshadow her in 
 its gloomy folds, and leave her heart as desolate as that 
 of the Widow Simms, or the wailing mother of Harry 
 andBilL 
 
 CHAPTEE EL 
 
 EOSE AND ANNIE. 
 
 |OSE MATHEE'S home was a beautiful place, 
 containing everything which love could devise, 
 or money purchase, and Eose was very happy 
 there, dancing like a sunbeam through the handsome
 
 EOSE AND AKNIE. 21 
 
 rooms of which she was the mistress, and singing as 
 gaily as her pet canary in its gilded cage by the door. 
 No shadow of sorrow or care had ever crossed her path 
 way, and the eighteen summers of her short life had 
 come and gone like so many pleasant memories, bringing 
 with them one successive round of joys, leaving no blight 
 behind, and bearing with them, alas, no thanks for the 
 good bestowed, for Rose was far too thoughtless to think 
 that the Providence which shielded her so tenderly, 
 might have dealt more harshly with her. But the shadow 
 was creeping on apace, and Rose was conscious that the 
 war-meeting had awakened within her a new and uncom 
 fortable train of thought. Like many others, she had a 
 habit of believing that nothing very bad could happen to 
 her, and so, let what might occur, she was sure her hus 
 band would be spared. Still, in spite of her gaiety, an 
 undefined something haunted her all the way from the 
 church, and even when alone with her husband in her 
 tasteful sitting-room, with the bright gas-light falling 
 cheerily around her, and adding a fresh lustre to the 
 elegant furniture, she could not shake it off, nor guess 
 what it was that ailed her. At last, however, it came to 
 her, suggested by the sight of her husband's evening 
 paper, and laying her curly head upon his knee, she gave 
 vent to her restlessness in the expression: 
 
 "I wish there wouldn't be any war. What is it all 
 for ? Tell me, please." 
 
 It was the first interest she had evinced in the matter, 
 and glad to talk with any one upon the subject which 
 was beginning to occupy so much of his own thoughts, 
 Mr. Mather drew her into his lap, and endeavored, as far 
 as possible, to explain to her what it all was for. Much of 
 what he said, however, was Greek to Rose, who only 
 gained a vague idea that the North was contending for a
 
 22 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 bit of cloth, such as she had often seen floating over the 
 dome of the old State House in Boston, and with the re 
 mark, that men's lives were far more valuable than all 
 the Stars and Stripes in the world, she fell away to sleep, 
 leaving her husband in the midst of an argument not 
 quite clear to himself, for, like his wife, he could not then 
 soe exactly what the war was for. Still, inasmuch as there 
 was war, he would not play the coward's part, nor shrink 
 from the post of duty if his country should need his ser 
 vices. But this Rose did not know, and secure in the 
 belief that whatever might happen, Will would never go, 
 she soon resumed her wonted cheerfulness, and if she 
 said anything of the war, was sure to startle her hearers 
 with some remark quite unworthy of a New England 
 daughter. She did wish they would stop having so 
 many meetyigs, she said, or if they must have them, she 
 wished they'd get Brother Tom to come and set them 
 right. He had lived in Charleston. He could tell them 
 how kind the people were to Mary, his sick wife, and 
 were it not that 'twas beneath him to lecture, she'd sure 
 ly write for him to come. Rose Mather was growing 
 unpopular by her foolish speeches, and when at last she 
 was asked to join with other ladies of the town in mak 
 ing articles of clothing for the volunteers, she added the 
 last drop to the brimming bucket, by tossing back her 
 chestnut tresses, and " guessing she shouldn't blister her 
 hands over that coarse stuff. She couldn't sew much 
 any way, and as for making bandages and lint, the very 
 idea was sickening. She'd give them fifty cents if they 
 wanted, but she positively couldn't do more than that, 
 for she must have a new pair of lavender kids. She had 
 worn the old ones three or four times, and Will preached 
 economy every day." 
 
 W T ith a frown of impatience, the matron who had been
 
 EOSE AND ANNIE. 23 
 
 deputed to ask help from Rose, took the fifty cents, and 
 with feelings anything but complimentary to the silly 
 little lady, went back to the hall where scores of women 
 were busily employed in behalf of the company, some of 
 whom would never return to tell how much good even 
 the homely housewife, with its pins and needles, and 
 thread, had done them when far away where no mother 
 or sister hand could reach them, nor yet how the thought 
 that perhaps a dear one's fingers had torn the soft linen 
 band, or scraped the tender lint applied to some gaping 
 wo an, ha 1 halped to ease the pain, and cheer the home 
 sick heart. It was surely a work of mercy in which our 
 noble women were then engaged, and if from the group 
 collected in Reckland Hall, there was much loud mur 
 muring at Rose Mather's want of sense or heart, it arose 
 not so much from ill-nature, as from astonishment that 
 she could be so callous and indifferent to an object of so 
 much importance. 
 
 "Wait till her husband goes, and she won't mince 
 along so daintily, taking all that pains to show her Bal 
 moral, when it isn't one bit muddy," muttered the Widow 
 Simms, pointing out, to those near the window, the lady 
 in question, tripping down the street in quest of lavender 
 kids, perhaps, or more likely, bound for her husband's 
 office, where, now that everybody worked all day long at 
 the Hall, she spent much of her time, it was so lonely at 
 home, with nobody to call. " I hope he'll be drafted and 
 have to go, upon my word !" continued the widow, whose 
 heart was very sore with thinking of the three seats at 
 her fireside, so soon to be vacated by her darling boys, Eli, 
 John, and Isaac. " Yes, I do hope he'll be drafted, don't 
 you, Mrs. Graham ?" and she turned toward Annie, who 
 was rolling up bandages of linen, and weaving in with ev 
 ery coil a prayer that the poor soldier, whose lot it should
 
 24 ROSE MATHEK. 
 
 %. 
 
 be to need that band, might return again to the loved 
 ones at home, or else be fitted for that better home, 
 where war is unknown. 
 
 Annie shook her head, but made no answer. There 
 was no bitterness now in her heart against Rose Mather. 
 She had prayed that all away, and, only hoped the an 
 guish which had come to her, making her brain giddy, 
 and her heart faint, might never be borne by another, if 
 that could be. George had volunteered, was to be sec 
 ond lieutenant, and Annie, oh, who shall tell of the 
 gloom which had fallen so darkly around the cottage she 
 had called hers for one brief year. It was a neat, cozy 
 dwelling, and to Annie it never seemed so cheerful as on 
 that memorable night of the war-meeting, when she had 
 lighted the lamp, and sat down with George upon the 
 chintz-covered lounge he had helped her make when first 
 she was a bride. It is true the carpet was not of velvet, 
 like that Rose Mather trod upon; neither was there in 
 all the house one inch of rosewood or of marble, but 
 there was domestic love, pure and deep as any Rose ever 
 experienced, and there was something better far than 
 that, a patient, trusting faith in One who can shed light 
 upon the dreariest home, and make the heaviest trial 
 seem like nought. It was this trusting faith which made 
 Annie Graham the sweet, gentle being she was, shedding 
 its influence over her whole life, and softening down a 
 disposition which otherwise might have been haughty 
 and resentful. Annie was naturally high-spirited and 
 proud, and Rose's remarks concerning volunteers in gen 
 eral, and George in particular, had stung her to the 
 quick, but with the indignant mood there came another 
 impulse, and ere the cottage had been reached, the bitter 
 feeling had gone, leaving nothing but sorrow that it had 
 ever been there. Like Rose, she wished there would be
 
 KOSE AND ANNIE. 25 
 
 no war, but wishing was of no avail, and long after 
 George Graham was asleep and dreaming, it may be, of 
 glories won on battle-fields, Annie lay awake, questioning 
 within herself, whether she ought, by word or deed, to 
 prevent her husband's going, if he felt as he seemed to 
 feel, that it was as much his duty as that of others to 
 join in his country's defence. Annie was no great rea- 
 soner, logically; all her decisions were made to turn upon 
 the simple question of right and wrong, and on this oc 
 casion she found it hard to tell, so evenly the balance 
 seemed adjusted. More than once she stole from her 
 pillow, and going out into the fresh night air, knelt in the 
 moonlight, and asked for guidance to choose the right, 
 even though that right should take her husband from 
 her. 
 
 " If I knew he would not die, it would not be so hard 
 to give him up," she murmured, as sickening visions of 
 fields strewn with the dead, and hospitals filled with the 
 dying, came over her, and for an instant her brain reeled 
 with the thought of George dying thus, and leaving her 
 no hope of meeting him again, for George's faith was 
 not like hers. 
 
 Anon, however, something whispered to her that the God 
 she loved was on the field of carnage, and in the camp and in 
 the hospital, and everywhere as much as there in Rockland, 
 that prayers innumerable would follow the brave volun 
 teers, and that the evil she so much feared might be the 
 means of working the great good she so desired. And thus 
 it was that Annie came to a decision. Stealing back to her 
 husband's side, she bent above him as he lay sleeping, 
 and with a heart which throbbed to its very core, though 
 the lip uttered no sound, she gave him to his country 
 asking, if it could be, that he might come back again, but 
 if it were ordered otherwise "God's will be done." 
 2
 
 26 EOSE ilATHEK. 
 
 There was no shrinking after that sacrifice was made, 
 thcmgh when the morning came, the death- white face 
 and the dark circle beneath the eyes, told of a weary 
 vigil, such as many and many a woman kept both North 
 and South, during the dark hours of the Rebellion. But 
 save the death-white face, and heavy eye?, there was no 
 token of the inner struggle, as with a desperate effort at 
 self-command, Annie wound her arms around her hus 
 band's neck, and Whispered to him, "You may go, I 
 give my free consent," and George, who cared far more 
 to go than he had dared express, kissed the lips which 
 tried so hard to smile, little dreaming what it cost his 
 brave young wife to tell him what she had. To one of 
 his temperament, there was no danger to be feared 
 for himself. The bullet which might strike down a 
 brother at his side would be turned away from him. 
 Others would, of course, be killed, but he should escape 
 unharmed. In the language of one speaker, whose elo 
 quent appeal had done much to fire his youthful enthu 
 siasm, " He was not going to be shot, but to shoot some 
 body !" 
 
 This was his idea, and ere the clinging arms had un 
 clasped themselves from his neck, his imagination had 
 leaped forward to the future, and in fancy George 
 Graham wore, if not a Colonel's, at least a Captain's uni 
 form, and the cottage on the hill, which Annie so much 
 admired, and for the purchase of which a few hundreds 
 were already saved, was his, bought with the money he 
 would earn. The deed should be drawn in her name, 
 too, he said, and he pictured her to himself coming down 
 the walk to meet him, with the rose-blush on her cheek, 
 just as she looked the first time he ever saw her. Some 
 thing of this he told her, and Annie tried to smile, and 
 think it all might be. But her heart that morning was
 
 ROSE AND AKNIE. 27 
 
 far too heavy to be lightned by a picture of what 
 seemed so improbable. Still, George's hopeful confi 
 dence did much to reassure her, and when, a few days 
 after, she started for the Hall, she purposely took a 
 longer walk for the sake of passing the cottage on the 
 hill, thinking, as she leaned over the low iron fence, how 
 she would arrange the flower-beds more tastefully than 
 they were now arranged, and teach the drooping vines 
 to twine more gracefully around the slender columns 
 supporting the piazza in front. She would have seats, 
 too, willow-twisted chairs beneath the trees, where she 
 and George could sit at twilight, and watch the shadows 
 creeping across the hollow where the old cottage was, 
 and up the opposite hill, where the cupola of Rose 
 Mather's home was plainly visible, blazing in the April 
 sunshine. It was a very pleasant castle which Annie 
 built, and for a time the load of pain which, since George 
 volunteered, had lain so heavy at her heart, was gone ; 
 but it returned again when, as she passed a turn in the 
 road, her eye wandered down to the hollow, and that 
 other cottage standing there so brown and small, and 
 looking already so desolate, because she knew that ere 
 many days were over, she should wait in vain for the 
 loved footsteps coming down the road, should miss the 
 pleasant, cheery laugh, the teasing joke and words of 
 love which made the world all sunshine. The cottage on 
 the hill became a worthless thing as poor Annie forced 
 back her tears, and with quickened steps hurried on to 
 join the group of ladies busy at the Hall. 
 
 Taking her seat by the window, she commenced the 
 light work imposed on her, that of tearing and winding 
 bandages for those who might be wounded. 
 
 " Maybe there'll never be no fight, but it's well enough 
 to be prepared," was the soothing remark of the kind-
 
 28 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 hearted woman who gave the work to Annie, noting, aa 
 she did so, how the lip quivered and the cheek paled at 
 the very idea. 
 
 " What if George should need them ?" kept suggesting 
 itself to her as she worked industriously on, hoping that 
 if he did, some one of the rolls she was winding might 
 come to him, or better yet, if he could only have the bit 
 of soft linen she had brought herself, a piece of her 
 own clothing, and bearing on it her maiden name, Annie 
 Howard. He would be sure to know it, she said, it was 
 written so plainly with indelible ink, and it would make 
 him feel so glad. But there might be other Annie How 
 ards, it was not an uncommon name, was suggested 
 next to her, as she tore the linen in strips, and quick as 
 thought, her hand sought the pocket of her dress for the 
 pencil which she knew was there. Glancing around to 
 see that no one observed her, she touched the pencil to 
 her lips and wrote after the name, "It's your Annie, 
 George. Try to believe I'm there. Rockland, April, 
 1861." 
 
 There were big tear-drops on that bit of linen, but 
 Annie brushed them away, and went on with her rolling, 
 just as Widow Simms called her attention to Rose 
 Mather, as mentioned several pages back. 
 
 Annie could not account for it to herself, but ever 
 since Rose's arrival at Rockland, she had felt a strange 
 inexplicable interest in the fashionable belle; an interest 
 prompted by something more than mere curiosity, and 
 now that there was an opportunity of seeing her without 
 being herself seen, she straightened up and smoothing 
 the soft braids of her pale brown hair, waited for the 
 entrance of the little lady, who, with her pink hat set 
 jauntily on her chestnut curls, and her rich fur collar 
 buttoned gracefully over her handsome cloth cloak,
 
 ROSE AND ANNIE. 29 
 
 tripped into the room, doing much by her sunny smile 
 and pleasant manner to disarm the ladies of their recent 
 prejudice against her. She was nothing but a child, 
 they reflected; a spoiled, petted child; she would im 
 prove as she grow older, and came more in contact with 
 the sharp corners of the world, so those who had the 
 honor of her acquaintance, received her with the fami 
 liar deference, if we may be allowed the expression, 
 which had always marked their manner toward William 
 Mather's bride. Rose was too much accustomed to soci 
 ety to be at all disconcerted by the hundred pair of eyes 
 turned scrutinizingly toward her. Indeed, she rather 
 enjoyed being looked at, and she tossed the coarse gar 
 ments about with a pretty playfulness, saying that 
 " since the ladies had called upon her she had thought 
 better of it, and made up her mind to martyr herself 
 one afternoon at least, and benefit the soldiers. To bo 
 sure there wasn't much she could do. She might hold 
 yarn for somebody to wind, she supposed, but she 
 couldn't knit, and she didn't want to sew on such ugly, 
 scratchy stuff as those flannel shirts, but if somebody 
 would thread her needle, and fix it all right, she'd try 
 what she could do on a pair of drawers." 
 
 For a time no one seemed inclined to volunteer her 
 services, and Widow Simms's shears clicked spitefully 
 loud as they cut through the cotton flannel. At last, 
 however, Mrs. Baker, who had more than once officiated 
 as washerwoman at the Mather mansion, came forward 
 and arranged some work for Eose, who, untying the 
 strings of her pink hat, and adjusting her tiny gold thim 
 ble, labored on until she had succeeded in sewing up 
 and joining together a long leg with one some inches 
 shorter, which had happened to be lying near. Loud 
 was the shout which a discovery of this mistake called
 
 30 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 forth, nor was it at all abated when Hose demurely asked 
 if it would not answer for some soldier who should 
 chance to have a limb shot off just below the knee. 
 
 " The little simpleton !" muttered the widow, while 
 Mrs. Baker pointed out to the discomfited lady that one 
 division of the drawers was right side out and the other 
 wrong ! 
 
 There was no alternative save to rip the entire thing, 
 and with glowing cheeks, Rose began the task of undoing 
 what she had done, incidentally letting out, as she worked, 
 that Will might have known better than to send her 
 there, she shouldn't have come at all if he had not in 
 sisted, telling her people would call her a secessionist un 
 less she did something to benefit the soldiers. She didn't 
 care what they called her; she knew she was a democrat, 
 or used to be before she was married; but now that Will 
 was a republican, she hardly knew what she was; any 
 way, she was not a secessionist, and she wasn't particularly 
 interested in the war either; why should she be ? Will 
 was not going, nor Brother Tom, nor any of her friends. 
 
 "But somebody's friends are going, somebody's Will, 
 somebody's Tom; as dear to them as yours are to you," 
 came in a rebuking tone from a straight-forward, out 
 spoken woman, who knew from sad experience that 
 " somebody's Tom was going." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Eose, a shadow for an instant 
 crossing her bright face, " and its dreadful, too. Will 
 says everything will be so much higher, and it will be so 
 dull at Saratoga and Newport next summer, without the 
 Southern people. One might as well stay at home. 
 The war might have been avoided, too, by a little mutual 
 forbearance from both parties, until matters could be 
 amicably adjusted, for Brother Tom said so in his letter 
 last night, and a heap more which I can't remember."
 
 EOSE AND ANNIE. 31 
 
 Here Eose paused quite exhausted, with the effort she 
 bad made to repeat the opinion of Brother Torn. She 
 had read all his last letter, fully indorsing as much of it 
 as she understood, and after a little she went on : 
 
 " Wasn't it horrid, though, their firing into the Mas- 
 sachu^tts boys ? and they were from right 'round Bos 
 ton, too. Tom saw them when they started. They were 
 fine looking men, he says, and Will thinks I ought to be 
 proud that I'm a Bay State girl, and so I am, but it isn't 
 as if rny friends had gone. Tom is a democrat, I know, 
 but it's quite another kind that join the army." 
 
 Widow Simms could keep silent no longer, and brand- 
 ishing*lier polished shears by way of adding emphasis to 
 what she said, she began: 
 
 " And s'posin' 'tis folks as poor as poverty struck, haint 
 they f eelin's, I'd like to know ? Haint they got bodies 
 and souls, and mothers, and wives, and sisters? And 
 s'posin' 'tis democrats, more shame for t'other side that 
 helped get up the muss. Where be they now, them 
 chaps that wore the big black capes, and did so much to 
 ward puttin' Lincoln in that chair ? Why don't they help 
 to keep him settin' there, and not stand back with their 
 hands tucked in their trouses' pockets ? Both my boys, 
 Eli and John, voted t'other ticket, and Isaac would, but 
 he wasn't twenty-one. They've all jined, and I won't say 
 I'm sorry, for if there's anything I hate, it's a sneak! 
 It makes me so mad !" and the big shears again clicked 
 savagely, as Widow Simms resumed her work, after hav 
 ing thus delivered her opinion of the black republicans, 
 besides having, in her own words, given " that puckerin' 
 Miss Mathers a piece of her mind." 
 
 Obtuse as Rose was on many points, she saw there 
 was some homely truth in what the widow had said, but 
 this did not impress her so much as the fact that she
 
 32 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 had evidently given offence, and she was about trying to 
 extricate herself from the dilemma when George Graham 
 appeared, ostensibly to bring some trivial message to tho 
 President of the Society, but really to see if his wife 
 were there, and speak to her some kind word of encour 
 agement. Kose recognized him as the young m$n she 
 had seen at the war meeting, and the moment he left the 
 hall, she broke out impetuously, 
 
 " Isn't he handsome? so tall, so broad-shouldered, 
 and such a splendid mark for a bullet, I most know he 
 will be shot?" 
 
 " Hush-sh !" came warningly from several individuals, 
 but came too late. The mischief was done. Ei^ Eose 
 could collect her thoughts a group of frightened women 
 had gathered around poor Annie, who had fainted. 
 
 "What's the matter? do tell!" cried Eose, standing on 
 tip-toe and clutching at the dress of Widow Simms, who 
 angrily retorted, 
 
 " I should s'pose you'd ask. It's enough to make the 
 poor critter faint clean away to hear a body talk about 
 her husband's being a fust rate mark for a bullet !" 
 
 With all her thoughtlessness, Eose had the kindest 
 heart in the world; and forcing her way through the 
 crowd, she knelt by the white-faced-Annie, and tak 
 ing the drooping head in her lap, pushed back the 
 thick braids of hair, noticing, with her quick eye for the 
 beautiful, how soft and luxuriant they were, how pure 
 was the complexion, how perfect were the features, how 
 small and delicate the fingers, and how graceful was the 
 slender neck. 
 
 "I'm so sorry! I wish I'd staid at home; I am so 
 sorry," she kept repeating; and when at last Annie re- 
 turne tod consciousness, Eose Mather's was the first 
 voice she heard, Eose's the first face she saw.
 
 33 
 
 With an involuntary shudder she closed her eyes weari 
 ly, while Eose anxiously asked of those about her how 
 they should get her home. " Oh, Jake," she suddenly ex 
 claimed, as, towering above the female heads, she saw 
 her colored coachman looking for her, and remembered 
 that her husband was to call and take her out to ride, 
 " oh, Jake, lift this lady up, careful as you can, and put 
 her in our carriage. Is Will there ? Well, no matter, 
 he'll just have to get out. Stand back, won't you, and 
 let Jake come," she continued, authoritatively to the 
 group of ladies who, half-amused and half-surprised at 
 this new phase in Rose Mather's character, made way 
 for burly Jake, who lifted Annie's light form as if it had 
 been a feather's weight, and bore it down the stairs, fol 
 lowed by Eose, who, with one breath, told Annie not to 
 be a bit afraid, for Jake certainly would not drop her, 
 and with the next asked Jake if he were positive and 
 sure he was strong enough not to let her fall. 
 
 Lazily reclining upon the cushions of his carriage, Wil 
 liam Mather was smoking his Havana, and admiring 
 the sleek coat of his iron greys, when Eose appeared, 
 and seizing him by the arm, peremptorily ordered him 
 to alight, and help Jake lift the lady in. 
 
 " I don't know who 'tis, but it's somebody I made faint 
 away with my silly talk," she replied in answer to Mr. 
 Mather's question, " Who have you there ?" 
 
 " You made faint away !" he repeated, as he found 
 himself rather unceremoniously- landed upon the flag 
 ging stones, his Havana rolling at his feet, and his wife 
 preparing to follow Annie, whom Jake had placed inside. 
 
 "Yes; I talked about her husband's being a splendid 
 mark for a bullet, and all that, without ever thinking she 
 was his wife. He looked so tall, and big, and nice, that 
 I couldn't help thinking his head would come above *J]
 
 34 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 the rest in a fight, but I don't believe it will. There, 
 Jake, we are ready now, drive on," said Eose, while poor 
 Annie groaned afresh at this doubtful consolation. 
 
 " Drive whar?" asked Jake. "I dun know whar they 
 lives." 
 
 "To be sure, nor I either," returned Eose, turning 
 inquiringly to her husband, who gave the information, 
 adding, as he glanced down the street, 
 
 " Mr. Graham himself is coming, I see. I think, Eose, 
 you had best give your place to him." 
 
 Eose, who was fond of adventures, wanted sadly to go 
 with Annie, but George, when he came up, seemed so 
 concerned, and asked so many questions, that she 
 deemed it best to leave it for his wife to make the neces 
 sary explanations, merely saying, as she stepped upon 
 the walk, 
 
 "I am so sorry, Mr. Graham; I really did not mean 
 anything wrong in saying I knew you'd be shot, for you 
 are so " 
 
 " Eose, your dress is rubbing the wheel," interrupted 
 Mr. Mather, by way of diverting Eose from repeating 
 the act for which she was expressing sorrow. 
 
 " No, it ain't rubbing the wheel, either. It isn't any 
 where near it," said Eose, wondering what Will could 
 mean; while George, taking a seat by Annie, smiled at 
 what he saw to be a ruse. 
 
 Bent upon reconciliation, Eose pressed up to the car 
 riage, and said to Annie, " You won't be angry at me al 
 ways, will you ? I shouldn't have thought of it, only he 
 does look so " 
 
 " Go on, Jake," Mr. Mather called, out, cutting short 
 Eose's speech, and the next moment Annie was driving 
 down the street in Eose Mather's carriage, and behind
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 35 
 
 the iron greys, an honor she had never dreamed in store 
 for her when she saw the stylish turnout passing the 
 door of her cottage in the Hollow. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 THE DEPASTURE. 
 
 'HE 13th Eegiment was ordered to Elmira, and 
 the day had arrived for the departure of the vol 
 unteers. Bright was the sun, and cloudless the 
 sky which shone on Rockland, that spring day; but cloud 
 less sky nor warm spring sun could comfort the hearts 
 about to part with their treasures, some forever, and 
 some to meet again, but when, or where, or how, none 
 could tell save Him who holds the secrets of the future. 
 
 There were mothers who had -never felt a pang so keen 
 or a pain so sore, as when with hearts too full of anguish 
 for the dry, red eyes to weep, they watched their sons 
 pass from the threshold of the door, and knew that 
 when the golden sunlight, falling so brightly around 
 them, was purple in the west, they would look in vain 
 for that returning step, and listen in vain for tones which 
 were the first, perhaps, to stir the deep fountains of ma 
 ternal love. Fathers, too, were there, with heads bent 
 down to hide the tears they deemed it weak to shed, as 
 they gave the farewell blessing t.o their boy, praying that 
 God might" be over and around him, both when the deaf 
 ening battle roar was sounding in his ear, and when in 
 the stilly night he wrapped his blanket about him, and 
 laid him down to rest, sometimes with the southern stars 
 shining upon him, and sometimes with the southern
 
 36 EOSE MATEEE. 
 
 rain falling on his unsheltered head, for all these vicissi 
 tudes must come to a soldier on the field. Wives and 
 sisters, too, there were, who shuddered as they thought 
 how the dear ones to whom they said good-bye, would 
 miss the comforts they were leaving, miss the downy 
 pillow, the soft, warm bed made with loving hands, and 
 the luxuries of home never prized one half so much as 
 now, when they were to be exchanged for a life within 
 the camp. And there were maidens, from whose cheeks 
 the roses faded, as they gave the parting kiss, and prom 
 ised to be faithful, even though the manly form the lover 
 bore away should come back to them all maimed and 
 crushed and crippled with the toil of war. Far better 
 so than not to come at all. At least so Annie Graham 
 thought, as, winding her arms around her husband's 
 neck, she whispered to him: 
 
 " If the body you bring back has my George's heart 
 within it, I shall love you just the same as I do now," 
 and with her fair head lying on his bosom, Annie wept 
 piteously. 
 
 Not till then had she realized what it was to let him 
 go. She had become somewhat accustomed to thinking 
 of it, accustomed to seeing him pass in and out, dressed 
 in his stylish uniform, which made him look so hand 
 some, and then she had hoped the regiment would not be 
 ordered for a long, long time, never perhaps; but now 
 that dream was over; the dreaded hour had come, and 
 for a moment Annie felt herself too weak to meet it. 
 Through the livelong night she had prayed, or if per 
 chance sleep for a moment shut the swollen lids, the lips 
 had moved in prayer that her husband might come back 
 to her again, or failing to do so, that he might grasp, 
 even at the eleventh hour, the Christian's faith, and so 
 go to the Christian's home, where they would meet once
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 37 
 
 more. She had given him her little Bible, all pencil- 
 marked and worn with daily usage, the one she read 
 when first the spirit taught her the meani ng of its great 
 mysteries, and George had promised he would read it 
 every day, had said that when he went to battle he 
 would place it next his heart, a talisman to shield him 
 from the bullets of the foe. And Annie, smiling through 
 her tears, pointed him again to the only One who could 
 stand between him and death, asking that when he was 
 far away, he would remember what she said, and pray to 
 the God she honored. 
 
 " It's time, now, darling," he said, at last, as he heard 
 in the distance the beat of the drum. 
 
 But the clinging arms refused to leave his neck, and 
 the quivering lips pressed so constantly to his, mur 
 mured : 
 
 "Wait a little minute more. "Tis the last, you 
 know." 
 
 Again the drum-beat was heard mingled with the shrill 
 notes of the fife; the soldiers were marching down the 
 street, and he must go, but oh, who can tell of the love, the 
 pain, the grief, the tears mingled with that parting, 
 or the agony it cost poor Annie to take her arms 
 from off his neck, to feel him putting her away, to 
 hear him going from the room, across the threshold, 
 down the walk, through the gate, and know that he was 
 gone. 
 
 As a child in peril instinctively turns to the mother 
 who it knows has never failed to succor, so Annie turned 
 to God, and with a moaning cry for help, sank on her 
 knees just where George had left her. Burying her face 
 in the lounge she prayed that He who heareth even the 
 raven's cry, would care for her husband, and bring him 
 home again if that could be. So absorbed was she aa
 
 38 EOSE MATHEK. 
 
 not to hear the gate's sharp click, nor the footstep com 
 ing up the walk. Impelled by something he could not 
 resist, George had paused just by the garden fence, and 
 yielding to the impulse which said he must see Annie's 
 face once more, he stole softly to the open door, and 
 stood gazing at her as she knelt, her hands clasped to 
 gether, and her face hidden from his view, as she prayed 
 for him. 
 
 " Will the kind Father keep my George from peril if it 
 can be, but if, oh, God, how can I say it ? if he must 
 die, teach him the road to Heaven." 
 
 That was what she said, and George, listening to her, 
 felt as if it were an angel's presence in which he stood. 
 He could not disturb her. She was in safer hands than 
 his, and he would rather leave her thus, would rather 
 think of her when far away, just as he saw her last, 
 kneeling in her desolation and praying for him. 
 
 "It will help to make me a better man," he said, and 
 brushing aside the great tears swimming in his eyes, he 
 left his angel Annie, and went on his way to battle. 
 
 Just off from Kockland's main street, and in a cottage 
 more humble than that of George Graham, the sun shone 
 on another parting, on Widow Simms giving up her 
 boys, and straining every nerve to look composed, and 
 keep back the maternal love throbbing so madly at her 
 heart. Rigid as if cut in stone were the lines upon her 
 forehead and around her mouth, as she bustled about, 
 doing everything exactly as it should be done, and com 
 ing often to where Isaac sat trying to look unconcerned 
 and whistling " Dixie " as he pulled on the soft, warm 
 pair of socks she had sat up nights to knit him. Eli and 
 John had some too, snugly tucked away in their bundle,
 
 THE DEPAETUKE. 39 
 
 but Isaac's were different. She had ravelled her own 
 lamb's wool stockings for the material composing his, 
 for Isaac's feet were tender; there were marks of chil 
 blains on them; they would become sore and swollen 
 from the weary march, and his mother would not be 
 there with soothing lint and ointment made from the 
 blue poke- berries. Great pains had the widow taken 
 with her breakfast that morning, preparing each son's 
 favorite dish and bringing out the six china cups and 
 damask cloth, part of her grandmother's bridal dower. 
 It was a very tempting table, and John and EH tried to 
 eat, exchanging meaning smiles when they saw their 
 mother put in Isaac's cup the biggest lump of sugar, and 
 the largest share of cream. They did not care, for they 
 too loved the fair-haired, smooth-faced boy sipping the 
 yellow coffee he could not drink for the mysterious 
 bunches rising so fast in his throat. The breakfast was 
 over now. Isaac was trying on his socks, while Eh' and 
 John, knowing their mother would rather be alone when 
 she said good-bye to her baby, prepared to start, talking 
 quite loud, and keeping up stout courage till the last 
 moment came, when both the tall, six-foot young men 
 put their arms around the widow's neck, and faltered a 
 faint " Good-bye, mother, good-bye." 
 
 There were no tears in the mother's eyes, nor in the 
 sons', but in the breast of each there was a whirlpool of 
 raging waters, hurting far more than if they had been 
 suffered to overflow in torrents. Eli was the first to go, 
 for John lingered a moment. There was something he 
 would say, something which made him blush and stam 
 mer. 
 
 "Mother," he began, "I saw Susan last night. We 
 went to Squire Harding's together ; and, and, well, 
 'taint no use opposing it now, Susan and I are one; and
 
 40 EOSE MATHEK. 
 
 if I shouldn't come back, be good to her, for my sake. 
 Susan's a nice girl, mother," and on the brown, bearded 
 cheek, there was a tear, wrung out by thoughts of only 
 last night's bride, Susan Ruggles, whose family the widow 
 did not like, and had set herself against. 
 
 There was no help now, and a sudden start was all the 
 widow's answer. She was not angry, John knew; and 
 satisfied with this, he joined his brother in the yard, 
 where he was cutting his name upon the beech tree. 
 Thrice the widow called them back, failing each time to 
 remember what she wanted to say. "It was something, 
 sure," and the hard hands worked nervously, twisting up 
 the gingharn apron into a roll, smoothing it out again 
 and working at the strings, until Eli and John passed 
 from the yard, and left her standing there, watching 
 them as they walked down the road. They were a 
 grand-looking couple, she thought, as she saw how 
 well they kept step. They were to march together 
 to the depot, she knew, and nobody in town could turn 
 out a finer span, bub who would go with Isaac? 
 " Stub," his brothers called him. She hoped it might be 
 Judge Warner's son, it would be such an honor; and 
 that brought her back to the fact that Isaac was waiting 
 for her inside ; that the hardest part of all was yet to 
 come, the bidding him good-bye. He was not in the 
 chair where she had left him sitting, but was standing 
 by the window, and raising often to his eyes his cotton 
 handkerchief. He heard his mother come in, and turn 
 ing toward her, said, with a sobbing laugh: 
 
 " I wish the plaguy thing was over." 
 
 She thought he meant the war, and answered that "it 
 would be in a few months, perhaps." 
 
 " I don't mean that, I mean the telling you good-bye. 
 Mother, oh, mother !" and the warm-hearted boy 'clasped
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 41 
 
 his mother to his bosom, crying like a child ; " if I've 
 ever been mean to you," he said, his voice choked with tears 
 " if I've ever been mean to you, or done a hateful thing, 
 you'll forget it when I'm gone ? I never meant to be bad 
 and the time I made that face, and called you an old fool, 
 when I was a little boy, you don't know how sorry I felt, 
 nor how long I cried in the trundle-bed after you were 
 asleep. You'll forget it, won't you, when I am gone, 
 never to come back, maybe ? "Will you, mother, say ?" 
 
 Would she ? Could she remember aught against her 
 youngest born, save that he had ever been to her the 
 best, the dearest, most obedient child in the world 7 No, 
 she could not, and so she told him, caressing his light 
 brown hair and showering upon it the kisses which the 
 compressed lips could no longer restrain. The fountain 
 of love was broken, and the widow's tears dropped like 
 rain on the upturned face of her boy. 
 
 Suddenly there came to their ears the same drum-beat 
 which had sounded so like a funeral knell to Annie Gra 
 ham. Isaac must go, but not till one act more was done. 
 " Mother," he whispered, half hesitatingly, " it will make 
 me a better soldier if you say the Lord's Prayer with me 
 just as you used to do, with your hand upon my head. 
 I'll kneel down, if you like," and the boy of eighteen, 
 wearing a soldier's dress, did kneel down, nor felt shame 
 as the shaky hand rested once more on his bowed head, 
 while his mother said with him the prayer learned years 
 ago, kneeling as he knelt now. 
 
 Surely to the angels looking on there was charge given 
 concerning that young boy, charge to see that no mur 
 derous bullet came near him, even thoiigh they should 
 fall round him thick and fast as summer hail. It would 
 eeem that some such thought as this intruded itself 
 upon the Widow Simms, for where the swelling pain had
 
 42 EOSE MATHER 
 
 been there came a gentle peace. God would care for 
 Isaac. He would send him home in safety, and so the 
 bitterness of that parting was more than half taken 
 away. 
 
 Again the drum beat just as Annie heard it. Another 
 pressure of the hand, another burning kiss, another 
 "good-bye, mother, don't fret too much about us," and 
 then the last of the widow's boys was gone. 
 
 Turn we now to the shanty-like building down by the 
 mill, where the mother of Harry and Bill rocked to and 
 fro upon the unmade bed, and rent the air with her dis 
 mal h6wls, hoping thus to win at least one tender word 
 from the two youths, voraciously devouring the breakfast 
 she, like Widow Simms, had been at so much pains to 
 prepare, watching even through her tears to see "if 
 they wan't going to leave her one atom of the steak she 
 had spent her yesterday's earnings to buy." 
 
 No they didn't. Harry took the last piece, growling 
 angrily at Bill, who, kinder hearted than his brother, 
 suggested that " Hal shouldn't be a pig, but leave some 
 thing for the old woman." 
 
 " Leave it yourself^ was Harry's gruff response, and 
 turning to his mother, he told her " not to make a fool 
 of herself, when she knew she was glad to be rid of them. 
 At any rate, if she were not, the w r hole village were;" 
 adding, by way of consolation, that " he should probably 
 end his days in State Prison if he staid at home, and he 
 had better be shot in a fair fight, as there was some 
 credit in that." 
 
 Around Harry Baker's childhood there clustered no 
 remembrance of prayers said at the mother's knee, or of 
 Bible stories told in the dusky twilight, and though reared 
 in New England, within sight of the church spire, he had 
 rarely been inside the house of God, and this it was
 
 THE DEPAETUEE. 43 
 
 which made the difference between that scene and the 
 one transpiring in the house of Widow Sirnins. All the 
 animal passions in Harry Baker's case were brought to 
 full perfection, unsubdued by any softer influence, and 
 rising from the table, after having filled his stomach al 
 most to bursting, he swaggered across the room, and 
 opening his bundle began to comment upon the differ 
 ent articles, he having been too drunk to notice them 
 when given to him on the previous night. 
 
 "What in thunder is this for?" he exclaimed, hold 
 ing up the calico housewife, and letting buttons, scis 
 sors and thread drop upon the floor. "Plaguy pretty 
 implements of war, these !" and he began to enumerate 
 the articles. " Fine tooth comb, black as the ace of 
 spades. Good enough idea that; hain't used one since 
 I can remember;" and he passed it through his shaggy 
 hair, whose appearance fully verified the truth of his 
 assertion. "Half a paper of pins. Why didn't the 
 stingy critters give us more ? An old brass thimble, 
 too. Here, mother, I'll give you that to remember me 
 by," and he tossed it into her lap. The drawers then 
 took his attention; the identical pair Eose Mather made, 
 and though they were better than any he had ever worn, 
 he laughed at them derisively. Trying them on he suc 
 ceeded in making quite a long rip in one of the seams, 
 for Eose's stitches were none the shortest. Then, with a 
 flourish, he kicked them off, uttering an oath as he felt a 
 sharp scratch from the needle which Eose had broken, 
 and failed to extricate. The woolen shirt came next, but 
 any remarks he might have made upon that, were 
 prevented by his catching sight of the little broum book 
 which lay at the bottom of the bundle. 
 
 " Hurrah, Bill, if here ain't a Testament, with ' Harry 
 Baker' inside. Eich, by George ! Wonder if they
 
 M EOSE MATHER. 
 
 s'posed I'd read it. Let us see what it says. ' Como 
 unto me all ye that labor.' Mother, that means you, scrub- 
 bin' and worldn', you know. Keep the pesky thing. I 
 enlisted to lick the Southerners, not to sing himes and 
 psalms !" and he threw the sacred book across the floor, 
 just as the first drum-beat sounded. " That's the signal," 
 he exclaimed, and hastily rolling up the shirt and drawers, 
 he started for the door, carelessly saying, " Come Bill, 
 take your Testament and come along. Good-bye, old lady. 
 You needn't wear black if I'm killed. 'Twon't pay, I 
 guess." 
 
 "Oh, Harry, Harry, wait. Wait, Billy boy, do wait. 
 Give your old marm one kiss," and the poor woman tot 
 tered toward Harry, who savagely repulsed her, saying 
 "he wan't going to have her sloblrerin' over him." 
 
 " You, Billy, then, you'll let me kiss you, won't you ?" 
 and she turned toward Bill, who hesitated a moment, 
 for Harry was in the way. 
 
 Bill was afraid of Harry's jeers, and so he, too, refused, 
 while the wailing cry rose louder. 
 
 " Oh, Billy, do just once, and I've been so good to you I 
 Just once, do, Billy." 
 
 " Shan't do it," was Bill's reply, as he followed Harry, 
 who, as a farewell parting had hurled a stone at a cow 
 across the street, set the dog on his mother's kitten, 
 stepped on the old cat's tail, and then left the yard, slam 
 ming after him the rickety gate his mother had tried in 
 vain to have him fix before he went. 
 
 Billy, however, waited. There was something more 
 human in his nature than in his brother's. He had not 
 thrown his Testament away, and the sight of it in his 
 bundle had touched a tender chord, making him half 
 resolve to read it. Watching his brother till he waa
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 45 
 
 out of sight, he went back to where his mother sat, moan 
 ing dolefully, 
 
 " Oh that I should raise sich boys ! that I should 
 raise sich boys !" 
 
 " Mother," he said, and Mrs. Baker's heart fairly leaped 
 at the sound, for there was genuine sympathy in the tone. 
 " Mother, now that Hal has gone, I don't mind kissin' 
 you, or lettin' you kiss me, if you want to." 
 
 The doleful moan was a perfect scream as the 
 shrivelled arms clasped Bill, while the joyful mother 
 kissed the rough but not ill-humored face. 
 
 " There, now, don't screech so like an owl," he said, 
 releasing himself from her, and adding, as he glanced 
 at a huge silver watch, won by gambling, " Maybe seein' 
 I've a few minutes to spare, I'll drive a nail or so into 
 that confounded gate, and I dun know, but while I'm 
 about it, I'll split you an armful of wood. I had or'to 
 have cut up the hull on't I s'pose, but when Hal is 'round 
 I can't do nothin'." 
 
 It was strange how many little things Bill did do in 
 these few minutes he had to spare things which added 
 greatly to his mother's comfort, and saved her several 
 shillings, beside making a soft warm spot in a heart which 
 knew not many such. Glancing at the tall clock brought 
 from New England, when Mrs. Baker first moved to Kock- 
 land, Bill remarked: 
 
 " The darned thing has stopped agin. I or'to have 
 iled it, I s'pose. It would kind of been company for you, 
 hearin' it tick. I vum, if I hain't a mind to give you this 
 old turnep," and again he drew out the silver watch. 
 " You'll lay abed all day without no time. Like enough 
 I'll nab one from some tarnal rebel, who knows ?" and 
 with his favorite expression, " Nitff said" Bill laid the 
 watch upon the table, his mother moaning all the while, 
 
 " Billy boy, Billy boy, I never sot so much store by
 
 4.6 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 you before. How can I let you go ? Stay, Billy, do, or 
 else run awav the first chance you git. Will you, Billy 
 boy?" 
 
 "Not by a jug full!" was the emphatic response. " I 
 ain't none of that kind. I'll be shot like a dog before 
 I'll run. The Baker name shall never be disgraced by 
 my desertin'. It's more like Hal to do that; but don't 
 howl so. I'm kinder puttin' on the tender, you know, 
 'cause I'm goin' away. I should be ugly as ever if I's 
 to stay to hum. So stop your snivelin'," and having 
 driven the last nail into a broken chair, Bill gathered up 
 his bundle, and with the single remark, " Nuff said," 
 darted through the open door, and was off ere his mother 
 fairly comprehended it. 
 
 There was a great crowd out that morning to see the 
 company off. Fathers, mothers, wives, and sisters, 
 those who had friends in the company and those who had 
 none. The Mather carriage was there, and from its win 
 dow Eose's childish face looked out, now irradiated with 
 smiles as its owner bowed to some acquaintance, and 
 again shadowed with sympathy as the cries of some be 
 reaved one were heard amid the throng. 
 
 Widow Simms, too, was there, drawn thither by a de 
 sire to see if Isaac did march with Charlie Warner, as 
 she hoped he would, notwithstanding that he had told 
 her he was probably too short. She didn't believe 
 that, he was taller than he looked, and inasmuch as 
 Charlie was the most aristocratic of the company, she 
 did hope Isaac would go with him. So there she stood 
 waiting, not far from Mrs. Baker, who had dried her 
 eyes, and come for a last look at her boys. 
 
 Onward the soldiers came, slowly, steadily onward, the 
 regular tread of their feet and the measured beat of the 
 drum making solemn music as they came, and sending 
 a chill to many a heart; for 'twas no gala day, no Fourth
 
 THE DEPAETUEE. 47 
 
 of July, no old fashioned general training, they were 
 there to celebrate. Every drum-beat was a note of war, 
 and they who kept time to it were going forth to battle. 
 Onward, onward still they came, George Graham's splen 
 did figure towering above the rest, and eliciting more 
 than one flattering compliment from the lookers on. 
 
 There were John and Eli, side by side, John eagerly 
 scanning the female forms which lined the walk for a 
 sight of last night's bride, and Eli looking for his mother, 
 if perchance she should be there. She was there, and 
 what to John was better yet, she stood with her hand on 
 Susan's shoulder, showing that thus early she was trying 
 to mother her. 
 
 " That's him, that's John," and Susan's voice faltered 
 as she pointed him out to the widow, whose heart gave 
 one great spasm of pain as she saw him, and then grew 
 suddenly still with wrath and indignation; for alas, her 
 Isaac, who was to have gone with Charlie Warner, son 
 of Kockland's Judge, was marching with Wittiam Baker, 
 Bill, who had been to the workhouse twice, to say noth 
 ing of the times he had stolen her rare-ripes and early 
 melons ! She had not looked for anything like this, and 
 could scarcely believe her senses. Yet there they were, 
 right before her eyes, Isaac and Bill, the former hoping 
 his mother would not see him, and the latter trying not 
 to see his mother, who was quite as much delighted to 
 see him with Isaac Simms as the widow would have been 
 had Isaac been with Charlie Warner, just in front. 
 
 Mrs. Baker had followed her sons to the hall, had 
 heard the reasons for the captain's decision, and she 
 called out in a loud, exultant tone, 
 
 " Miss Simms ! Miss Simms do you see your Ike with 
 Billy ? Cap'n Johnson would have put him with Charlie 
 Warner if he hadn't fell short two inches. Look kinder
 
 4:8 KOBE MATHER. 
 
 nice together, don't they ? only Ike stoops a trifle, 'pears 
 to me." 
 
 It didn't " 'pear " so to Widow Simms, but then her eyes 
 were blurred so that she could not see distinctly, for, 
 strange to say, the sharpest pang of all was the knowing 
 that Isaac, so pure, so gentle, so girl-like, must be a com 
 panion for reckless, swearing, gambling Bill, and for a time 
 she could not quite forgive her youngest born that he had 
 not been just two inches taller. Blind, ignorant Widow 
 Simms, the hour will come when, on her bended knees, 
 she'll thank the over-ruling hand which kept her boy 
 from growing/us^ two inches taller ! 
 
 Onward, still onward they moved, until they turned 
 the corner and paused before the depot. 
 
 A little apart from the rest George Graham stood, 
 wishing that the cars would come, and building airy- 
 castles of what would be when he returned, covered with 
 laurels, as he was sure to do if only opportunities were 
 offered. He would distinguish himself, he thought, with 
 many a brave deed, so that the papers would talk of him 
 as a gallant hero, and when he came back to Rockland, 
 the people would come out to meet him, a denser crowd 
 than was assembled now. Their faces would not then 
 be so sad, for they would come to do him honor, and in 
 fancy he heard the stirring notes of the martial music, 
 and saw the smile of joy steal over the weather-beaten 
 features of the leader of the band, the man with the 
 jammed white hat, as he fifed that welcome home. There 
 would be carriages there, too, more than now, and maybe 
 there would be a carriage expressly for him, and the 
 dreamer saw the long procession moving down the street, 
 saw the little boys on the walk, the women at the 
 doors, and heard the peal of the village bells. It would 
 be grand, he thought, if he could have a crown, just as
 
 THE DEPARTURE. 49 
 
 the Roman victors used to do, it would please Annie 
 so much to see him thus triumphant. She would not 
 come up to the depot, he knew. She would rather be 
 alone when she met him, while he, too, would prefer that 
 all those people should not be looking on when he kissed 
 his little wife. Just then the train appeared, and the 
 confusion became greater as the crowd drew nearer to 
 gether, and the man with the jammed white hat who was 
 to fife George's welcome home, redoubled his exertions, 
 and tried his best to drown his own emotions in the harsh 
 sounds he made. But above the fife's shrill scream, 
 above the bass drum's beat, and above the engine's hiss, 
 was heard the sound of wailing, as one by one the Kock- 
 land volunteers stepped aboard the train. 
 
 Bill was the last to go, for as a parting act he had fired 
 the old cannon, which almost from time immemorial had 
 heralded to Rockland's sleeping citizens that twelve 
 o'clock had struck and it was Independence day. Some 
 said it was no good omen that the worn-out gun burst in 
 twain from the heavy charge with which Bill had seen 
 fit to load it, but Bill cared not for omens, and with three 
 cheers and a tiger for Uncle Sam, he jumped upon the 
 platform just as the final all aboard was shouted. 
 
 There was a ringing of the bell, a sudden puffing of the 
 engine, a straining of machinery, a sweeping backward 
 of the wreaths of smoke, and then, where so lately one 
 hundred soldiers had been, there was nothing left save 
 an open space of frozen ground and iron rails, as cold 
 and as empty as the hearts of those who watched until 
 the last curling ring of vapor died amid the eastern 
 woods, and then went sadly back to the homes left so 
 desolate.
 
 60 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WILL AND BEOTHEB TOM. 
 
 LETTER from brother Tom, I am so glad. 
 It's an age since he wrote, and I've been dying 
 to hear from home. Dear old Tom!" and drop- 
 ing parasol in one place, gloves in another, and shawl in 
 another, Rose Mather, who had just come in from shop- 
 ing, seized the letter her husband handed her, and seating 
 herself upon an ottoman near the window, began to read 
 without observing that it was dated at Washington instead 
 of Boston, as usual. 
 
 Gradually, however, there came a shadow over her 
 face, and her husband saw the tears gathering slowly in 
 her eyes, and dropping upon the letter she had been 
 " dying to get." 
 
 " What is it, Rose ?" Mr. Mather asked, as a sob met 
 his ear. 
 
 " Oh, Will," and Rose cried outright, "I didn't believe 
 Tom would do that ! I thought people like him never 
 went to the war. I 'most know he'll be killed. Oh, 
 dear, dear. What shall I do ?" and Rose hid her face in 
 the lap of her husband, who fondly caressed her chest 
 nut hair as he replied, 
 
 " You'll bear it like a brave New England woman. We 
 need just such men as your brother Tom, and I never re 
 spected him one half so much as now that he has shown 
 how truly noble he is. He was greatly opposed to Lin 
 coln, you know, and worked hard to defeat him ; but now 
 that our country is in danger, he, like a true patriot, has 
 thrown aside all political feeling and gone to the rescue. 
 I honor him for it, and may success attend him."
 
 WILL AND BROTHER TOM. 51 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Rose, as a new idea struck her, 
 " but what will his Southern friends think of him ? and 
 he has got a heap of them. There are the Birneys and 
 Franklins from New Orleans, the Richardsons in Mobile, 
 and those nice people in Charleston, what will they say 
 when they hear he has taken up arms against them ? and 
 he always used to quarrel so with those stiff Abolitionists 
 in Boston, when they said the Southerners had no right 
 to their slaves. Tom insisted they had, and that the North 
 was meddling with what was none of its business, and 
 now he's turned abolitionist, and joined too, dear, 
 dear." 
 
 Mr. Mather smiled at Rose's reasoning, and after a mo 
 ment, replied, " I have no idea that Tom has changed his 
 mind in the least with regard to the negroes, or that he 
 loves his Southern friends one whit the less than when 
 defending them from abuse. Negroes and Southern pro 
 clivities have nothing to do with it. A blow has been 
 struck at the very heart of our Union, and Tom feels it 
 his duty to resent it. It's just like this : suppose you, in 
 a pet, were trying to scratch your mother's eyes out, and 
 Tom should try to prevent it. Would you think him 
 false to you, because he took the part of his mother? 
 Would you not rather respect him far more than if he 
 stood quietly by and saw you fight it out ?" 
 
 " It is not very likely I should try to scratch out moth 
 er's eyes," said Rose, half laughing at her husband's 
 odd comparison, and adding, after a moment, "I don't 
 see how folks can fight and love each other too." 
 
 Mr. Mather didn't quite see it either, and without di 
 rectly replying to Rose, he asked, by way of diverting 
 her mind from the subject of her brother's volunteering, 
 if she noticed what Tom said about the Rockland Com 
 pany in general, and George Graham and Isaac Simms in 
 particular ?
 
 52. ROSE MATHER. 
 
 This reminded Rose of Annie, who had been ill most 
 of the time since her husband's departure. 
 
 " I meant to have called on Mrs. Graham right away," 
 she said. " The poor creature has been so sick, they say, 
 but would not let them send for George, because it was 
 his duty to stay where he was. I'd like to see duty or * 
 anything else make me willing to part with you. I don't 
 believe Mrs. Graham loves her husband as I do you, or 
 she would never consent to be left alone," and Hose 
 nestled closer to her husband, who could not find cour 
 age to tell her what he meant to do when he handed her 
 Tom's letter. It would be too much for her to bear at 
 once, he thought, as he saw how greatly she was pained 
 because her brother had joined the army, and was even 
 then in Washington. 
 
 To Rose it was some consolation that Tom was captain 
 of his company, and that his soldiers were taken from 
 the finest families in Boston. This was far better than 
 if he had gone as a private, which of course he would not 
 do. He was too proud for that,- and she could never have 
 forgiven him the disgrace. Still, viewed in any light, it 
 was very sad, for Tom had been to Hose more like a 
 father than a brother. He was the pride, the head of 
 the Carleton family, .upon whom herself and mother had 
 leaned, the one since the day of her widowhood, and the 
 other since she could remmeber. He it was who had 
 petted and caressed, and spoilt her up to the very hour 
 when, at the altar, he had given her away to Will. He 
 it was, too, who had been the arbiter of all the childish 
 differences which had arisen between herself and Jimmie, 
 teasing, naughty Jimmie, wandering now no one knew 
 where, if indeed he were alive. And at the thought of 
 Jimmie, with his saucy eyes and handsome face, her tears 
 flowed afresh. What if he were living and should join
 
 WILL AND BROTHER TOM. 53 
 
 the army, like Tom ? It would be more than she could 
 bear, and for a long time after her husband left her, Rose- 
 sat weeping over the picture she drew of both her broth 
 ers slain on some bloody battle-field. The shadow of war 
 was beginning to enfold her, and brought with it a new 
 and strange sympathy for those who, like herself, had 
 brothers in the army. 
 
 Again remembering Annie Graham, she sprang up, ex 
 claiming to herself, 
 
 " I'll go this very afternoon. She'll be so glad to know 
 what Tom thinks of George 1" and ere long Eose was pick 
 ing her way daintily through the narrow street which led 
 to the cottage in the Hollow. It was superior to most of 
 the dwellings upon that street, and Eose was struck at 
 once with the air of neatness and thrift apparent hi every 
 thing around it,. from the nicely painted fence to the lit 
 tle garden with its plats of flowers just budding into 
 beauty. 
 
 " They have seen better days, I am sure, or else Mrs. 
 Graham's social position was above her husband's," was 
 Eose's mental comment, as she lifted the gate latch and 
 passed up the narrow walk, catching a glimpse, through 
 the open window, of a sweet, pale face, and of a thick, 
 stout figure, flying through the opposite door, as if anx 
 ious to avoid being seen. 
 
 Poor Annie had been very sick, and more than once 
 the physician who attended her had suggested sending 
 for her husband, but Annie, though missing him sadly, 
 and longing for him more than any one could guess, al 
 ways opposed it, begging of Widow Simms, who of her 
 own accord went to nurse her, not to write anything which 
 would alarm him in the least. So George, ever hopeful, 
 ever looking on the sunny side, thought of his blue-eyed 
 wife as a little bit sick, and nervous it might be, but not
 
 54 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 dangerous at all, and wrote to her kind, loving, cheering 
 letters, which did much to keep her courage from dying 
 within her. Annie was better now, was just in that 
 state of convalescence when she found it very hard to 
 lie all day long, watching Widow Simms as she bustled 
 out and in, setting the chairs in a row with their six 
 backs square against the wall, and their six fronts oppo 
 site the table, stand and bureau, also in a row. She was 
 just wishing some one would come, when the swinging of 
 the gate and the widow's exclamation, " Oh, the land, if 
 that stuck up thing ain't comin'," announced the approach 
 of Rose Mather. 
 
 "I'll make myself missin', for mercy knows I don't 
 wan't to hear none of your secession stuff. It fairly makes 
 my blood bile!" was the widow's next comment; and 
 gathering up her knitting she hurried into the kitchen, 
 leaving Annie to receive her visitor alone. 
 
 Not waiting for her knock to be answered, Rose en 
 tered at the open door, and advanced at once into the 
 room where Annie was, her fair hair pushed back from 
 her forehead, her blue eyes unusually brilliant, and her 
 face scarcely less white than the pillow on which it lay. 
 
 Rose had an eye for the beautiful, and after the first 
 words of greeting were over, she broke out in her impul 
 sive way 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Graham, how handsome you are looking ! 
 just like the apple blossoms. I wish your husband could 
 see you now. I'm sure he wouldn't stay there another 
 hour. I think it's cruel in him, don't you ?" 
 
 The tears came at once to Annie's eyes, and her voice 
 was very low as she replied: 
 
 " George does not know how sick I have been, neither 
 do I wish to have him. It would only make his burden 
 heavier to bear, and I try to care more for his comfort 
 than my own."
 
 WILL AND BKOTHEB TOM. 55 
 
 This was a phase of unselfishness wholly new to Rose, 
 and for an instant she was silent, then remembering 
 Tom's letter, she seated herself upon the foot of the bed, 
 and throwing aside her bonnet, took the letter from her 
 pocket, telling Annie as she did so that she, too, was now 
 interested in the war, and in every one whose friends had 
 gone. 
 
 "I never knew how it felt before," she said; "and 
 I've made a heap of silly speeches, I know. Don't you 
 remember that time in the Hall, when I talked about 
 your husband being shot ? I am sorry, but I do think 
 he's more likely to be picked off than Tom, who is not 
 nearly as tall. You are faint, ain't you ?" she added, as 
 she saw how deathly pale Annie grew, while the drops 
 of perspiration stood thickly about her lips. 
 
 "Simpleton, simpleton!" muttered "Widow Simms, list 
 ening through the keyhole in the kitchen, while Annie 
 whispered: 
 
 "Please don't talk that way, Mrs. Mather. I know 
 George is very tall, but unless God wills it otherwise, the 
 bullets will pass by him as well as others." 
 
 Eose saw she had done mischief again, by her thought 
 less way of speaking, and eager to repair the wrong, she 
 bent over Annie and said: 
 
 " I am sorry. I'm always doing something foolish. 
 You are faint; shan't I tell the servant to bring you some 
 water ? She's in the kitchen, I suppose," and ere Annie 
 could explain, Eose had darted into the neat little kitch 
 en where Widow Simms was stooping over the stove and 
 kindling a fire, with which to make the evening tea. 
 
 "Girl, girl, Mrs. Graham wants some water. Hurry 
 and bring it quick, will you?" 
 
 Eose called out a little peremptorily, for there was 
 something rather suggestive of defiance in the square,
 
 56 BOSE MATHER. 
 
 straight back which never moved a particle in answer to 
 the command. 
 
 " Deaf or hateful," was Rose's mental comment, and as 
 it might possibly be the former, she wished she knew the 
 girl's name, as that would be more apt to attract her. 
 " Most every Irish girl is Bridget," she thought to her 
 self, " and I guess this one is. Any way she acts like the 
 girl that used to order mother out doors, so I'll venture 
 upon that name." 
 
 "Bridget, Bridget!" and this time the voice was de 
 cidedly authoritative in its tone, but what more Hose 
 might have added was cut short by the widow, who 
 dropped the griddle with a bang, and turning sharply 
 round, replied: 
 
 " There's no Bridget here, and if it's me you mean, I 
 am Mrs. Joseph Simms !" 
 
 Eose had good reason for remembering Mrs. Simms, 
 and coloring crimson, she tried to apologize: 
 
 "I beg your pardon; I did not see your face. I sup 
 posed everybody kept a girl; and your back looked 
 like " 
 
 "Don't make the matter any worse," interrupted 
 the widow, smiling in spite of herself at Rose's attempt 
 to excuse her blunder. "You thought from my dress 
 that I was a hired girl, and so I was in my younger days, 
 and I don't feel none the wus for it neither. Miss Gra 
 ham's faint, is she ? She's had time to get over it, I 
 think. Here's the water," and filling a gourd shell she 
 handed it to Rose, who, in her admiration of the (to her) 
 novel drinking cup, came near forgetting Annie. 
 
 But Annie did not care, for the rencounter between 
 the widow and Rose had done her quite as much good 
 as the water could, and Rose found her laughing the first 
 really hearty laugh she had enjoyed since George went 
 away.
 
 WILL AND BROTHER TOM. 57 
 
 " It's just like me," Kose said, as she resumed her seat 
 by Annie, listening intently while she told how kind the 
 Widow Simms had been, coining every day to stay with 
 her, and only leaving her at night because Annie insisted 
 that she should. 
 
 " I like Mrs: Simms !" was Rose's vehement exclama 
 tion ; " and I am glad Tom said what he did about Isaac, 
 who used to saw our wood. I did not tell you, did I ? 
 And there's something real nice about your husband, too. 
 I mean to call her in while I read it," and Rose ran out 
 to the wood-shed, where the widow was now splitting a 
 pine board for kindling, the newspaper she at first had 
 used, having burned entirely out. 
 
 Rose's manner and voice were very conciliatory as she 
 said: 
 
 " Please, Mrs. Simms, come in and listen while I read 
 what brother Tom has written about Mr. Graham and 
 your Isaac, something perfectly splendid. Tom has 
 volunteered and gone to "Washington, you know." 
 
 It was strange how those few words changed the 
 widow's opinion of Rose. The fact that Thomas Carle- 
 ton, whom the Rockland people fancied was a Secession 
 ist, had joined the Federal army, did much toward effect 
 ing this change, but not so much as the fact that he had 
 actually noticed her boy, and spoken of him in a letter. 
 
 " Miss Mather ain't so bad after all," she thought, and 
 striking her axe into the log, she followed Rose to the 
 sitting-room, listening eagerly while she read the few 
 sentences pertaining to George and Isaac. They were 
 as follows: 
 
 " By the way, "Will, I find there's a company here from 
 Rockland. Fine appearing fellows, too, most of them 
 are, and under good discipline. I am especially pleased 
 3*
 
 58 BOSE MATHER. 
 
 with the second lieutenant. He's a magnificent looking 
 man, and attracts attention wherever he goes." 
 
 " That's George, you know," and Rose, quite as much 
 pleased as Annie herself, nodded toward the latter, 
 whose pale cheek flushed with pride at hearing her hus 
 band thus spoken of by Rose Mather's brother. 
 
 " Yes, but Isaac," interrupted the widow. " Where 
 abouts does he come in ?" 
 
 " Oh, pretty soon I'll get to him. There's more about 
 George yet," answered Rose, as she resumed her read 
 ing. 
 
 "I had the pleasure of talking with him yesterday, 
 and found him very intelligent and sensible. If we had 
 more men like him, success would be sure and speedy. 
 He has about him a great deal of fun and humor, which 
 go far toward keeping up the spirits of his company, 
 and some of the poor fellows need it sadly. There's a 
 young boy in the ranks, Isaac Sirnms, who interests me 
 greatly." 
 
 " Oh-h !" and the widow drew a long sigh as Rose con 
 tinued: 
 
 " I wonder he was ever suffered to come, he seems so 
 young, so girl-like and so gentle. Still he does a great 
 deal of good, Lieut. Graham tells me, by visiting the 
 sick and sharing with them any delicacy he happens to 
 have. He's rather homesick, I imagine, for when I asked 
 him if he had a mother, his chin quivered in a moment, 
 and I saw the tears standing in his eyes. Poor boy, I 
 can't account for the interest I feel in him. Heaven 
 grant that if we come to open fight he may not fall a 
 victim." 
 
 " Yes, yes, my boy, my darling boy," and burying her 
 face in her hard hands, the widow sobbed aloud. "I 
 thank you, Miss Mather, for reading me that," she said,
 
 WILL AND BEOTHER TOM. 59 
 
 " and I thank your brother for writing it. Tell him so, 
 will you. Tell him I'm nothing but a cross, sour-grained, 
 snappish old woman, but I have a mother's heart, and I 
 bless him for speaking so kindly of my boy." 
 
 Eose's tears fell fast as she folded up the letter, and 
 Annie's kept company with them. There was a bond of 
 sympathy now between the three, as they talked together* 
 of the soldiers, Mrs. Simms and Annie devising various 
 methods by which they might be benefited, and Eose 
 wishing she, too, could do something for them. 
 
 "But I can't," she said, despairingly. "I never did 
 anybody any real good in all my life, only bothered 
 them," and Eose sighed as she thought how useless and 
 aimless was her present mode of life. 
 
 " You'll learn by and by," said the widow, in a tone 
 unusually soft for her; then, as if the sock she held in 
 her lap had suggested the idea, she continued, " Can 
 you knit ?" 
 
 Eose shook her head. 
 
 " Nor your mother, neither ?" 
 
 Again Eose shook her head, feeling quite ashamed 
 that she should lack this accomplishment. 
 
 " Well," the widow went on, " 'taint much use to learn 
 now. 'Twould take a year to git one stocking done, but 
 if when winter comes, that brother of yours wants socks 
 and mittens, or the like of that, tell him I'll knit 'em for 
 him. ' 
 
 "Oh, you are so kind!" cried Eose, thinking to her 
 self how she'd send Widow Simms some pineapple pre 
 serves, such as she had with dessert that day. 
 
 They grew to liking each other very fast after this, 
 and Eose staid until the little round table was arranged 
 for tea and rolled to Annie's bedside. There was no 
 plate for Eose, the widow having deemed it preposterous
 
 60 HOSE MATHEK. 
 
 that she should stay, but the table looked so cosy, with 
 its tiny black teapot, and its nicely buttered toast, 
 that Rose invited herself, with such a pretty, patronizing 
 way, that the widow failed to see the condescension 
 it implied. It did not, however, escape Annie's ob- 
 *?servation, but she could not feel angry with the little 
 ' lady, touching her bone-handled knife as if she were 
 afraid of it, and looking round in quest of the napkin 
 she failed to find, for Widow Simms' had banished 
 napkins from the table as superfluous articles, which 
 answered no earthly purpose,save the putting an extra 
 four cents into the pocket of the washerwoman, Harry 
 Baker's mother. 
 
 It was growing late, and the sunset shadows were al 
 ready creeping into the Hollow when Rose bade Annie 
 good-bye, promising to come again ere long, and won 
 dering, as she took her homeward way, whence came the 
 calm, quiet peace which made Annie Graham so happy, 
 even though her husband were far away in the midst of 
 danger and death. Rose had heard that Annie was a 
 Christian, and so were many others whom she knew, but 
 they were much like herself, good, well-meaning people, 
 amiable, and submissive when everything went to suit 
 them, but let their husbands once join the army and they 
 would make quite as much fuss as she, who did not pro 
 fess to be anything. And then, for the first time ha her 
 life, Rose wished she, too, could learn from Annie's 
 teacher, and so have something to sustain her in case 
 her husband should go. But he wouldn't go, and if 
 ^he did, all the religion in the world could not make her re 
 signed, and the tears sprang to Rose's eyes as she hurried 
 up the handsome walk to the piazza, where Will sat smo 
 king his cigar in the hazy twilight. She told him where 
 she had been, and then sitting upon his knee told
 
 WILL AND BROTHER TOM. 61 
 
 him of Annie, wishing she could be like her, and asking 
 if he did not wish so too. 
 
 Will made no direct reply. His thoughts were evi 
 dently elsewhere, and after a few minutes he said, hesi 
 tatingly: 
 
 " Would it break my darling's heart if I should join 
 Tom at Washington?" 
 
 There was a cry of horror, and Eose hid her face in 
 her husband's bosom. 
 
 "Oh, Will, Will, you shan't, you can't, you mustn't 
 and won't! I didn't know you ever thought of such a 
 cruel thing. Don't you love me any more ? I'll try to 
 do better, I certainly will !" and Hose nestled closer to 
 him, holding his hands just as Annie Graham had o.nce 
 held her husband's. 
 
 " You could not be much better, neither could I love 
 you more than I do now, Rosa, darling," Mr. Mather re 
 plied, kissing her childish brow. "But, Rosa, be rea 
 sonable once, and listen while I tell you how, ever since 
 the fall of Sumter, I have thought the time would come, 
 when I should be needed, resolving, too, that when it 
 came, it should not find me a second Sardanapalus !" 
 
 The sudden lifting of Rose's head, and her look of per 
 plexed inquiry, showed that notwithstanding the fanciful 
 ornament styled a Diploma lying in her writing-desk, Sar 
 danapalus had not the honor of being numbered among 
 her acquaintances. But her heart was too full to ask an 
 explanation, and her husband continued: 
 
 " Besides that, there was a mutual understanding be 
 tween Tom and myself, that if one went the other would, 
 and he has gone, nobly laying aside all the party pre 
 judice which for a time influenced his conduct Our 
 country needs more men." 
 
 "Yes, yes," gasped Rose ;^ "but more have gone.
 
 62 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 There's scarcely a boy left in town, and it's just so every 
 where." 
 
 Mr. Mather smiled as he replied: 
 
 " I know the boys have gone, boys whose fair, beard 
 less faces should put to shame a strong, full-grown man 
 like me. And another class, too, have gone, our labor 
 ing young men, leaving behind them poverty and little 
 helpless children, whereas I have nothing of that kind 
 for an excuse." 
 
 " Oh, I wish I had a dozen children, if that would keep 
 you !" cried Eose, the insane idea flashing upon her that 
 she would at once adopt a score or more of those she 
 had seen playing in the muddy Hollow that afternoon. 
 
 Mr. Mather smiled, and continued : 
 
 " Suppose you try and accustom yourself to the idea 
 of living a while without me. I shall not die until my 
 appointed time, and shall undoubtedly come back again. 
 Don't you see ?" 
 
 "No, Eose didn't. Her heart was too full of pain to 
 see how going to war was just as sure a method of pro 
 longing one's life as staying at home, and she sobbed 
 passionately, one moment accusing her husband of not 
 loving her as he used to. and the next begging of him to 
 abandon his wild project. 
 
 Mr. Mather was a man of firm decision, and long be 
 fore he broached the subject to his wife, his mind 
 had been made up that his country called for him, not 
 for somebody else, but for him personally; that if the 
 rebellion were to be crushed out, men of wealth and in 
 fluence must help to crush it, not alone by remaining at 
 home and urging others on, though this were an import 
 ant part, but by actually joining in the combat, and by 
 their presence cheering and inspiring others. And Mr. 
 Mather was going, too, had, in fact, already made ar-
 
 WILL AND BEOTHER TOM, 63 
 
 rangements to that effect, and neither the tears nor 
 entreaties of his young wife could avail to change his 
 purpose. But he did not tell her so that night ; he 
 would rather come to it gradually, taking a different 
 course from that which George Graham had pursued, 
 for where George had left the decision wholly to his 
 wife, Mr. Mather had taken it wholly upon himself, mak 
 ing 'it first and telling Rose afterwards. It was better 
 so, he thought, and having said all to her that he wished 
 to say on that occasion, he tried to divert her mind into 
 another channel. But Rose was not to be diverted. It 
 had come upon her like a thunderbolt, the thing she 
 so much dreaded, and she wept bitterly, seeing in the 
 future, which only a few hours before looked so bright 
 and joyous, nothing but impenetrable gloom, for she could 
 read her husband tolerably well, and she intuitively felt 
 that she had lost him, that he was going from her, 
 never to come back, she knew. She should be a widow 
 before she was nineteen, and the host of summer dresses 
 she meant to buy when she went back to Boston, changed 
 into a widow's sombre weeds, as Eose saw herself arrayed 
 in the Via.bi1imp.ntH of mourning. What a fright she 
 looked to herself in the widow's cap, with which her 
 vivid imagination disfigured her chestnut hair, and she 
 shuddered afresh as she thought how hideous she was in 
 black. 
 
 Poor, simple little Rose ! And yet we say again Rose 
 was not a fool, nor yet an unnatural character. There 
 are many, many like her, some who will recognize them 
 selves in this story and more who will not. Gay, impul 
 sive, pleasure-seeking creatures, whom fashionable edu 
 cation and too indulgent parents have done their utmost 
 to spoil, but who still possess many traits of excellence, 
 needing only adverse circumstances to mould and hammer
 
 64 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 them into the genuine coin of true-hearted womanhood. 
 Such an one was Rose. Reared by a fond mother, petted 
 by an older brother, and teased by a younger, flattered 
 by friend and foe, and latterly caressed and worshiped 
 by a husband, Rose had come -to think far too much of 
 her own importance as Mrs. Rose Mather, nee Miss Rose 
 Carleton, of Boston, an acknowledged belle, and leader 
 of the ton. 
 
 There was a wide difference between Rose and Annie 
 Graham, for while the latter, in her sweet unselfishness, 
 thought only of her husband's welfare, both here and 
 hereafter, Rose's first impulse was a dread shiinking 
 from being alone, and her second a terror lest the years 
 of her youth, now spread out so invitingly before her, 
 should be passed in secluded widowhood, with nothing 
 from the gay world without wherewith to feed her vanity 
 and love for admiration. Still, beneath Rose's light ex 
 terior there was hidden a mine of tenderness and love, a 
 heart which, when roused to action, was capable of 
 greater, more heroic deeds, than would at first seem pos 
 sible. And that heart was rousing, too, was gradually 
 waking into life; but not all at once, and the tears which 
 Rose shed the whole night through were wrung out 
 more from selfishness, perhaps, than from any higher 
 feeling. It would be so stupid living there alone in 
 Rockland. If she could only go to Washington with 
 Will it would not be half so bad, but she could not, for she 
 waked Will up from a sound sleep to ask him if she might, 
 and he had answered "No" falling away again to sleep, 
 and leaving Rose to wakefulness and tears, unmingled 
 with any prayer that the cloud gathering so fast around 
 her might sometime break in blessings on her head. 
 
 It was scarcely light nest morning when Rose, deter 
 mining to prevail, redoubled her entreaties for her hus-
 
 WILL AND BEOTHEE TOM. 65 
 
 band to abandon the decision he now candidly acknow 
 ledged, but she could not. He was going to the war, 
 and going as a private. Rose almost fainted when he 
 told her this, and for a time refused to be comforted. 
 She might learn to bear it, she said, if he were an officer, 
 but to go as a common soldier, like those she worked for 
 at the Hall, was more than she could bear. 
 
 It was in vain that Mr. Mather told her how only a few 
 could be officers, and that he was content to serve his 
 country in any capacity, leaving the more lucrative situ 
 ations to those who needed them more. He did not tell 
 her he had declined a post of honor, for the sake of one 
 who seemed to him more worthy of it. He would rather 
 this should reach her from some other source, and ere 
 the day was over it did, for in a small town like Kock- 
 land it did not take long for every other one to know that 
 William Mather had enlisted as a private soldier, when 
 he might have been Colond of a regiment, had he not 
 given place to another because that other had depending 
 on him a bed-ridden mother, a crazy wife, and six little 
 helpless children. 
 
 How fast William Mather rose in the estimation of 
 those who, never having known him intimately, had 
 looked upon him as a cold, haughty man, whose loyalty 
 was somewhat doubtful, and how proud Rose felt, even 
 in the midst of her tears, as she heard on every side her 
 husband's praise. Even the Widow Simms ventured to 
 the Mather mansion, telling her how glad she was, and 
 offering to do what she could for the volunteer, while 
 Annie, unable to do anything for herself, could only pray 
 that God would bring Mr. Mather back safely to the child- 
 wife, who was so bowed down with grief. How Annie 
 longed to see her, and, if possible, impart to her some 
 portion of the hopeful trust which kept her own soul
 
 66 EOSE MATHEB. 
 
 from fainting beneath its burden of anxious uncertainty. 
 But the days passed on, and Hose came no more to the 
 cottage in the Hollow. Love for her husband had tri 
 umphed over every other feeling, and rousing from her 
 state of inertness, she busied herself in doing, or rather 
 trying to do, a thousand little things which she fancied 
 might add to Willie's comfort. She called him Willie 
 now, as if that name were dearer, tenderer than Will, 
 and the strong man, every time he heard it, felt a sore 
 pang, there was something so plaintive in the tone, as 
 if she were speaking of the dead. 
 
 It was a most beautiful summer day, when at last he 
 left her, and Rose's heart was well nigh bursting with its 
 load of pain. It was all in vain that she said her usual 
 form of prayer, never more meaningless than now when 
 her thoughts were so wholly absorbed with something 
 else. She did not pray in faith, but because it was a 
 habit of her childhood, a something she rarely omitted, 
 unless in too great a hurry. No wonder then that she 
 rose up from her devotion quite as grief-stricken as when 
 she first knelt down. God does not often answer what 
 is mere lip service, and Rose was yet a stranger to 
 the prayer which stirs the heart and carries power with 
 it. The parting was terrible, and Mr. Mather more than 
 half repented when he saw how tightly she clung to his 
 neck, begging him to take her with him, or at least to 
 send for her very soon. 
 
 " "What shall I do when you are gone ? "What can I 
 do ?" she sobbed, and her husband answered: 
 
 " You can work for me, darling, work for all the sol- 
 d'.ers. It will help divert your mind." 
 
 " I can't I can't," was Rose's answer. " I don't know 
 how to work. Oh, Willie, Willie! I wish there wasn't 
 any wax.
 
 JIMMIE. 67 
 
 Willie wished so too, but there was no time now for 
 regrets, for a rumbling in the distance and a rising 
 wreath of smoke on the western plain warned him not to 
 tarry longer if he would go that day. One more burn 
 ing kiss, one more fond pressure of the wife he loved 
 so much, a few more whispered words of hope, and then 
 another Rockland volunteer had gone. Gone without 
 daring to look backward to the little form lying just the 
 same as he had put it from him, and yet not just the 
 same. He had felt it quivering with anguish when he 
 took his arms away, but the trembling, quivering motion 
 was over now, and the form he had caressed lay motion 
 less and still, all unconscious of the dreary pain throb 
 bing in the heart, and all unmindful of the loud hurrah 
 which greeted "William Mather, as he stepped upon the 
 platform of the car and waved his hat to those assem 
 bled there to see him oi Rose, who had meant at the 
 very last to be so heroic, so brave, so worthy the wife of 
 a soldier, had fainted. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 JIMMIE. 
 
 JipHERE were loving words being breathed into 
 Rose's ear, when she came back to conscious 
 ness, and there was something familiar in the 
 touch of the hand bathing her brow, and smoothing her 
 tangled hair, but Rose was too weak and sick to notice 
 who it was caring for her so tenderly, until she heard 
 the voice saying to her:
 
 68 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 "Is my daughter better ?" 
 
 And then she threw herself with a wild scream of joy 
 into the arms which had cradled her babyhood, sobbing 
 piteously: 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother, Willie has gone to the war ! 
 Wilhe has gone to the war !" 
 
 It was very strange, Rose thought, that her mother's 
 tears should flow so fast, and her face wear so sad an 
 expression just because of Will, who was nothing but 
 her son-in-law. Then it occurred to her that Tom might 
 be the occasion of her sadness, but when she spoke of 
 him, asking why her mother had not prevailed on him 
 to stay at home, Mrs. Carleton answered, promptly: 
 
 " I never loved him one-half so well, as on that night 
 when he told me he had volunteered. He would be un 
 worthy of the Carleton blood he bears, were he to hesi 
 tate a moment !" and the eye of the brave New England 
 matron kindled as she added: "If I had twenty sons, I 
 would rather all should die on the Federal battle field 
 than have one turn traitor to his country ! Oh, Jimmie, 
 Jimmie, my poor misguided boy !" 
 
 It was a piteous cry which came from the depths of 
 that mother's aching heart, a cry so full of anguish that 
 Hose was startled, and asked in much alarm what it was 
 about Jimmie. Had she heard from him, and was he 
 really dead ? 
 
 "No, Rose," and in the mother's voice there was a 
 hard, bitter tone. " No, not dead, but better so, than 
 what he is. Oh, I would so much rather he had died 
 when a little, innocent child, than live to bear the name 
 he bears !" 
 
 " What name, mother ? What has Jimmie done ? Do 
 tell me, you frighten me, you look so white !" and Rose 
 clung closer to her mother, who, with quivering lip and
 
 JIMMIE. 69 
 
 faltering voice, told her how recreant runaway Jimmie 
 had joined the Confederate army under Beauregard, and 
 was probably then marching on to Washington to meet 
 her other son, in deadly conflict, it might be ; his hand, 
 the very one, perhaps, to speed the fratricidal bullet 
 which should shed a brother's life-blood ! 
 
 No wonder that her heart grew faint when she thought 
 of her boy as a Rebel, aye, a rebel of ten times deeper 
 dye than if he had been born of Southern blood, and 
 reared on Southern soil, for the roof-tree which sheltered 
 his childhood was almost beneath the shadow of Bunker 
 Hill's monument, and many an hour had he sported at its 
 base, playing directly above the graves of those brave 
 men who fell that awful day when the fierce thunders of 
 war shook the hills of Boston, and echoed across the 
 smoky waters of the bay. Far up the lofty tower, too, 
 as high as he could reach, his name was written with his 
 own boyish hand, and the mother had read it there since 
 receiving the shameful letter which told of his disgrace. 
 Climbing up the weary, winding flight of stairs, she had 
 looked through blinding tears upon that name, JAMES 
 MADISON CARLETON, half hoping it had been erased, it 
 seemed so like a mockery to have it there on Freedom's 
 Monument, and know that he who bore it was a traitor to 
 his country. Yet there it was, just as he left it years ago, 
 and with a blush of shame the mother crossed it out, just 
 as she fain would have crossed out his sin could that have 
 been. But it could not. She knew that Jimmie was in 
 the Southern army, and not wishing to speak of it at 
 home, where he already bore no envied name, she had 
 come for sympathy to her only daughter; and it was well 
 for both she did, for it helped to divert Rose's grief into 
 a new and different channel; to set her right on many
 
 70 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 points, and gradually to obliterate all marks of what some 
 had called Secession. 
 
 Tom had been her pride; the brother she honored and 
 feared, while Jimmie, nearer her age, was more a com 
 panion of her childhood; the one who teased and petted 
 her by turns, one day putting angle worms in her bosom 
 just to hear her scream, and the next spending all his 
 pocket-money to buy her the huge wax doll she saw in 
 the shop window, down on Washington street, and cov 
 eted so badly. Such were some of Rose's reminiscences 
 of Jimmie, and while time had softened down the horrid 
 sensations she experienced when she felt the cold worms 
 crawling on her neck, it had not destroyed the doll, the 
 handsomest she had ever owned, nor made her cease to 
 love the teasing boy. She could not feel just as her 
 mother did about him, for she had not her mother's 
 strong, patriotic feeling, but her tears flowed none the 
 less, while she, too, half wished him lying beneath the 
 summer grass, in beautiful Mt. Auburn. 
 
 " How did you hear from him ?" she asked, when her 
 first burst of grief was over, and her mother replied by 
 taking out a letter, on which Eose recognized her brother's 
 handwriting. 
 
 " JJe sent me this," Mrs. Carleton said, and tearing 
 open the letter, she read it aloud to Eose. 
 
 "KicHHOND, VA., June, 1861. 
 
 "DEAB MOTHER: Pray don't think you've seen a ghost when you 
 recognize my writing. You thought me dead, I suppose, but there's 
 no such good news as that. I'm bullet-proof, I reckon, or I should 
 have died in New Orleans last summer when the yellow fever and I 
 had such a squabble. I was dreadfully sick then, and half wished I 
 had not run away, for I knew you would feel badly when you heard 
 how I died with nobody to care for me, and was tumbled into the 
 ground, head sticking out as likely as any way. I used to talk about 
 you, old Martha said, and about Eose, too. Dear little Rose. I
 
 JIMMIE. 71 
 
 actually laid down my pen just now, and laughed aloud as I thought 
 how she looked when I treated her to those worms; telling her I had 
 a necklace for her ! Didn't she dance and didn't Tom thrash me, 
 too, till I saw stars ! Well, he never struck me a blow amiss, though 
 I used to think he did. I was a sorry scamp, mother, the biggest 
 rascal in Boston. But I've reformed. I have, upon my word, and 
 you ought to see how the people here smile upon and flatter me, telling 
 me what a nice chap I am, and all that sort of thing. 
 
 "In short, mother, to come at once to the point, and not spend 
 an hour in arguing, as Tom used to do when he took me up in the 
 attic where he kept the gads, you know, in short, I've been natural 
 ized, have sworn allegiance to the future Southern monarchy, and 
 am as true a Southern blood as you would wish to see. I've got a 
 Palmetto cockade on my cap, a tiny Confederate flag on my sleeve, 
 and what is best of all, I've joined the Southern army under Beaure- 
 gard, and shall shortly bring the war to the threshold of the Capi 
 tol, licking the Yankees there congregated like fun. It's about time 
 now, mother, for you to ring for Margaret. You'll want the camphor, 
 and make a fuss, of course, so while you are enjoying that diversion, 
 I'll go and practice a little with my gun. You know I could never 
 hit a barn without shooting twice, but I'm improving fast, and shall 
 soon be able to pick off a Yankee at a distance of a mile ! 
 
 " 2 o'clock, P. M. 
 
 ""Well, mother, I take it for granted you are nicely tucked up in 
 bed, with the curtains drawn and a wet rag on your head, as the result 
 of what I've told you. I'm sorry that you should feel so badly, and 
 wish I could see you for an hour or so, as I could surely convince you 
 we are right. We have been browbeaten and trodden upon by the 
 North until forbearance has ceased to be a virtue, and now that 
 they've thrown down the gauntlet we will meet them on their own 
 terms. I dare say they have made you believe that we struck the 
 first blow by firing into Sumter, but, mother, those northern papers 
 do lie so, all except the Herald, and a few others, which occasionally 
 come within a mile of the truth, but even they have been bribed re 
 cently, or something. If you want the unbiased truth of the matter 
 subscribe for the Richmond Examiner, or better yet, the Charleston 
 Mercury, whose editor is a New England man, and of course is ca 
 pable of judging right. He knows what, has brought on this war. 
 He'll tell you how the South Carolinians generously bore the insult
 
 72 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 of the Federal flag flying there defiantly in their faces until they could 
 bear it no longer, and BO one day we pitched in. 
 
 " I say we, for I was there in Fort Moultrie, and saw the fight, but 
 did not join, for the brave fellows, out of compliment to my having 
 been born near Bunker Hill, said I needn't, so I mounted a cotton 
 bale and looked on, feeling, I'll admit, some as I used to on the 
 Fourth of July, when I saw how noble old Sumter played her part. 
 And once, when a shell burst within ten feet of me, turning things 
 generally topsy turvy, and blowing shirt sleeves and coat sleeves, 
 and waistbands and boots, higher than a kite, I was positively guilty 
 of hurrahing for the Stars and Stripes. I couldn't help it, to save 
 me. 
 
 And yet, mother, I believe the North wrong, and the South right, 
 but so generous a people are we, that all we ask now, is for you to 
 let us alone ; and if the Lincolnites won't do that, why, then we must 
 stoop to fight the mud-sills. It's all humbug, too, about the negroes 
 being on the verge of insurrection. A more faithful, devoted set, I 
 never saw. They'll fight for their masters until they die, every man 
 of them. Tom will tell you that. What are his politics ? Bell and 
 Everett, I dare say, so there's no danger of my meeting him in bat 
 tle, and I'm glac. of it, for to tell the truth, I should feel rather tick 
 lish raising my gun against old Tom. May be, though, he is hum 
 bugged Like the rest, and forms a part of that unit said to exist at the 
 North. "What sort of a thing is that, mother? What does it look 
 like ? Democrats and Republicans, Abolitionists and Garrisonites, 
 all melted in one crucible and bearing Abraham's image and super 
 scription ! I wish I could see it. Must have changed mightily round 
 Boston from what they used to be when they quarreled so, some 
 against and some for Southern rights and Southern people. But 
 strange things happen nowadays, and it may be Tom, too, has turned 
 his coat, and taken sides with the Federals. If so, all I can say, is, 
 'Tomniie, oh, Tommie, beware of the day, when Southern bloods 
 meet thee in battle array; for a field of weak cowards rushes full 
 on my sight, and the ranks of the Yankees are scattered in flight. ' 
 Won't we rout them, though ! I shall fight next time. I've played 
 pollywog long enough. I am regularly enlisted now. Am a Rebel, as 
 5 ou call us at home. Nothing very bad about that, either, as I can 
 prove to you, if you'll take the trouble to hunt up my old dog-eared 
 History of the United States, where Washington is styled by the Brit 
 ish the Eebd Chief. 
 
 " The South are only doing what the Thirteen did in '76, trying to
 
 JiMMIE. 73 
 
 shake off the tyrant's yoke. It's the same thing precisely, only the 
 shoe is on the other foot, and pinches mightily. We did not at first 
 intend to subjugate the North, but maybe they'll provoke us to do 
 it, if they keep on. Now, however, we only want, or rather did want 
 a peaceable separation, and you may as well yield to it first as last. 
 What do you intend doing with us, any way, suppose you succeed 
 in licking us ? Hold us as a conquered province, just as England* 
 holds Ireland ? Much good that will do you. It will be some like 
 keeping a mad dog chained so tightly that he cannot get away, but is 
 none the less snappish and non-come-at-able for that. No, no, ac 
 knowledge our independence, and call home the chaps you have 
 dragged from Poor Houses and State Prisons, lanes and ditches, 
 and sent to fight against Southern gentlemen. This, to me, is the 
 most humiliating feature of the whole; and if I must be shot or taken 
 prisoner, I hope it will be by some one worthy of my steel. This 
 last I'm writing for old Tom's benefit. Give him my compliments, 
 and tell him nothing would please me more than to welcome him to 
 our camp some day. 
 
 "Dear little Eose, perhaps she would not let a Eebel kiss her, 
 and I don't know but I'd turn Federal for half an hour or so for the 
 sake of tasting her sweet lips once more. I do love Eose, and I feel 
 a mysterious lump in my throat every time I look at her picture, 
 taken just before I left home. I never show it, for somehow it 
 would seem like profanation to have the soldiers staring at it. So I 
 wear it next my heart, and when I go into battle I shall keep it 
 there. Perhaps it will save my life, who knows ? 
 
 " I am getting tired, and must close ere long. Now, mother, please 
 don't waste too many tears over me. The time will come when you'll 
 see we are right; and if it will be any consolation, I will say in conclu 
 sion, that I have written a heap worse than I really believe. I am 
 not a fool. I understand exactly how the matter stands, but I like the 
 Southern side the best. I think they are just as near right as the 
 North, and I'm going to stick to them through thick and thin. We 
 shall have a battle before long, and this may be the last time I'll ever 
 write to you. I've been a bad boy, mother, and troubled you so 
 much, but if I'm shot you will forget all that, and only remember 
 how, with all my faults, I loved you still, you and Tom and little 
 Eose, more than you ever guessed. 
 
 "By the way, I believe I'll send you a lock of my hair, cut just 
 over my left ear, where you used to think it curled so nicely. Per 
 haps it will enhance its value if you know I severed it with a bowie
 
 74 ROSE 1TATHER. 
 
 knife, such as I now carry with me. Tell Eose I'll send her a calico 
 dress by and by. It will be the most costly present I can make her 
 if the blockade is carried out, but it won't be ; that old Bull across 
 the sea will be goring you with his horns first you know. Then 
 you'll have a sweet time up there, beset before and behind, and pos 
 sibly annexed to Canada. But I don't want to make you feel any 
 bluer than you are probably feeling, so good bye, good bye. 
 " Your affectionate Eebel, 
 
 " JAMES M. CAELETON." 
 
 "P. S. I shall send this to "Washington by a chap who is going 
 to desert, you know, and join the Federals with a pitiful story about 
 having been pressed into the Eebel service, telling them, too, how 
 poor and weak and demoralized we are, how a handful of troops can 
 lick us, and so draw them into our web, as a spider tempts a fly, don't 
 you see ? They offered me that honor, knowing that a son of GEOEGE 
 CAELETON, twice M. C. from Massachusetts, and now defunct, would 
 be above suspicion, and would thus gather a heap of items. But 
 hang me, if I could turn spy on any terms. So I respectfully de 
 clined. You see I am quite a somebody, owing to my having had 
 sense enough to wait until I was twenty-one, ere I ran away, and so 
 bringing a part of my property with me. Money makes the mare 
 go here as elsewhere, but I'm about running out. I wish you 
 could send me a few thousand, can't you ?" 
 
 And this was Jimmie's letter, over which the mother 
 had wept far bitterer tears than any she shed when her 
 eldest born bade her his last farewell, giving to her, just 
 as Jimmie had done, a lock of his brown hair. She had it 
 with her now, and she laid them, both on Rose's hand, 
 the dark brown lock, and the short black silken curl, 
 which twined itself around Rose's finger, as if it loved the 
 snowy resting-place. Rose's first impulse was to shake 
 it off as if it had been a guilty thing; but the sight of it 
 recalled so vividly the handsome, saucy face, and laugh 
 ing, mischievous black eyes it once had helped to shade, 
 that she pressed it to her lips, and whispered sadly, 
 " Dear Jimmie, I cannot hate him if I try, nor see how he 
 is greatly at fault," while in her heart was the unframed
 
 JIMMIE. 75 
 
 prayer that God would care for the Eebel boy, and bring 
 him back to them. 
 
 Mrs. Carleton was proud of her family name, proud of 
 her family pride, and she shrank from having it known 
 how it had been disgraced, so after Rose's first grief was 
 over she bade her keep it a secret, and Eose promised 
 readily, never doubting for a moment her ability to do so. 
 Eose had already borne much that morning. Excessive 
 weeping for her husband, added to what she had heard 
 of Jimmie, took her strength away, and she spent that 
 first weary day in bed, sometimes sobbing bitterly as the 
 dread reality came over her that Will was really gone, 
 and again starting up from a feverish, broken sleep with 
 the idea that it was all a dream, or a horrid nightmare, 
 from which she should at last awake. Callers were all 
 excluded, and with a delicious feeling that she was not to 
 be disturbed, Eose, late in the afternoon, lay watching 
 the western sunlight dancing on the wall, when a step 
 upon the stairs was heard, and in a moment Widow 
 Simms appeared, her sharp face softening into an expres 
 sion of genuine pity when she saw how white and wan 
 Eose was looking. 
 
 "They tried to keep me out," she said, "that brawny 
 cook of yours and that filigree waiting-maid, but I would 
 come up, and here I am." 
 
 Then sitting down by Eose she told her Annie had 
 sent her there. " She's sorry for you," the widow said, 
 " and she sent this to tell you so," and the widow handed 
 ' Eose a tiny note, written by Annie Graham. Once Eose 
 would have resented the act as implying too much famili 
 arity, but her heart was greatly softened, while, had she 
 tried her best, she could not have regarded Annie Gra 
 ham in the light of an inferior. Tearing open the en 
 velope she read:
 
 *. 
 
 76 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 "Mr DEAB MRS. MATHEB I am sure you will pardon the liberty I 
 am taking. My apology is that I feel so deeply for you, for I iinder- 
 stand just what you are suffering, understand how wearily tha 
 hours drag on, knowing as you do that with the waning daylight his 
 step will not be heard just by the door, making in your heart little 
 throbs of joy, such as no other step can make. I am so sorry for you, 
 and I had hoped you at least might be spared, but God in his wis- - 
 dom has seen fit to order it otherwise, and we know that what He 
 does is right. Still it is hard to bear, harder for you than for me, 
 perhaps, and when this morning I heard the car signal given, I knelt 
 just where I did when my own husband went away, and asked our 
 Heavenly Father to bring your Willie back in safety, and, Mrs. Ma 
 ther, I am sure He will, for I felt, even then, an answer to my prayer, 
 something which said, ' It shall be as you ask.' 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Mather, try to be comforted; try to see the brighter 
 side; try to pray, and be sure the darkness now enveloping you so 
 like a pall will pass away, and the sunshine be the brighter for the 
 cloud. Come and see me when you feel like it, and remember, you 
 have at least two friends who pray for you, one at the Father's right 
 hand in Heaven, and one in her cottage in the Hollow. 
 
 "ANNIE GEAHAM." 
 
 Rose had not wept more passionately than she did 
 now, as she kissed the note, and wished she were one 
 half as good as Annie Graham. 
 
 " But I am not," she said, " and never shall be. Tell 
 her to keep praying until Will comes home again." 
 
 "I will tell her," returned the widow, "but wouldn't 
 it be well enough to try what you can do at it yourself, 
 and not leave it all for her ?" 
 
 "Try what I can do at praying?" Eose exclaimed. 
 " I can't do anything, only the few words I always say 
 at night, and they have nothing in them about Will." 
 
 "Brought up like a heathen!" muttered the widow, 
 feeling within herself that to the names of her own sons 
 and Captain Carleton, William Mather's must now be 
 added, when, as was her daily custom, she took her 
 troubles to One who has said, " Cast you burdens upon 
 the Lord, for He careth for you."
 
 JIMMIE. 77 
 
 ""Well both remember your husband, Miss Graham 
 and I, so don't fret yourself to death," she said, sooth 
 ingly, as Rose broke into a fresh burst of tears. 
 
 It isn't him so much," Eose sobbed, " though that is 
 terrible and will kill me, I most know, but there's some 
 thing else that ails me a great deal worse than that; at 
 least, mother has made me think it is, though I can't 
 quite see how having one's brother join the Rebel army 
 is so very bad." 
 
 Rose forgot her promise of secrecy, just as her mother 
 might have known she would. The story of the Carle- 
 ton disgrace was told, and perfectly aghast, the horrified 
 widow listened to it. 
 
 "Tour brother a rebel?" she almost shrieked, "a 
 good-for-nothing, ill-begotten rebel ! I thought you said 
 he was a captain of a company;" and mentally the wid 
 ow struck from her list of names that of poor, scandal 
 ized Tom, that very moment perspiring at every pore as 
 he went through with his evening drill within the Fed 
 eral camp. 
 
 "No, no," Rose cried, vehemently, "not Tom; I 
 have another brother, a younger one, Jimmie we call 
 him. Did you never hear of Jimmie, who ran away more 
 than a year ago ?" 
 
 "Never !" and the staunch patriot of a widow pursed 
 up her thin lips with an expression which plainly said 
 the Carleton family had faUen greatly in her estimation, 
 in spite of all Tom had said of Isaac. 
 
 RO*B, however, was not good at reading expressions, 
 and taking it for granted the widow wanted to hear all 
 about it, she told her what she knew, marvelling much at 
 the rigid silence her auditor maintained. 
 
 " Isn't it shameful ?" she asked, when she had fin 
 ished.
 
 78 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 " Shameful ? Yes. I hope he'll be catched and hung 
 higher than Haman. I'll furnish rope to hang him !" 
 was the indignant widow's reply, and ere Hose could 
 quite make out what ailed her, she had said good-after 
 noon, and banging the door behind her, was hurrying 
 off, muttering to herself, "Somethin' wrong in their 
 bringin' up. Needn't tell me. I'd like to see my boys 
 turnin' traitor! The rascal!" and as by this time the 
 widow had reached the shop where she was to stop for 
 burning-fluid, she turned into the little store, and catch 
 ing up the can with a jerk, spilt a part of its contents 
 upon her clean gingham dress, and then hurried off again 
 with rapid strides toward the cottage in the Hollow. 
 
 The Carletons, Tom and all, were below par in her 
 opinion, and kept sinking lower and lower, until she 
 reached the cottage, where she gave vent to her wrath 
 as follows: 
 
 "A pretty how d'ye do up to Miss Martherses. Her 
 brother Jim has jined the cowardly, sneakin', low-lived, 
 contemptible Eebels, and is comin' on to take Washing 
 ton ! The scalliwag ! If things go on at this rate, I'll 
 jine the army myself, and tar and feather every one on 
 'em! Needn't tell me." 
 
 Annie was no lover of gossip, and knowing that the 
 widow was terribly excited, she made no reply except to 
 pass her a letter bearing the Washington postmark. 
 This had the desired effect, and utterly oblivious of Jim- 
 mie, the widow tore open Isaac's letter, in which he spoke 
 of Captain Carleton as being very kind to him, and very 
 popular with the soldiers. 
 
 "I would fight for him till the very last," Isaac wrote; "he has 
 been so good to me, always noticing me with a bow when he comes 
 into our regiment, as he sometimes does, and when he can. speaking 
 to me a pleasant word. He knows I sawed his sister's wood, for I 
 told him so. It seemed so mean-like to be passing myself off for bettei
 
 JIMMIE. 79 
 
 than I am, and you know a soldier's dress does improve a chap 
 mightily, giving him kind of a dandy air. Why, even Harry Baker 
 and Bill look like gentlemen, though Harry gets drunk awfully, and 
 has been in the guard-house twice, But, as I was saying, Captain 
 Carleton didn't appear to think a bit less of me, though he struck 
 me on the shoulder, and laughed kind of queer when I said why I 
 told him I sawed Mrs. Mather's wood, and the next day I saw him 
 talking with our colonel, and heard something about sergeant, and 
 Isaac Simms, and ' too young to be expedient.' Then, when I met 
 him again, he asked me wasn't I twenty-one, in such a way that I 
 knew he wanted me to tell him yes ; but, mother, I thought of that 
 prayer we said together, the morning I came away, ' Lead us not 
 into temptation,' and I couldn't tell a lie, though the answer stuck 
 in my throat and choked me so, but I out with it at last. I said, 
 ' No, sir, I was only eighteen last Thanksgiving,' and then his face 
 had the same look it wore when I told him I was a wood-sawyer. 'And 
 so I suppose you'll be nineteen next Thanksgiving,' he said, adding 
 ' You don't know what you lost by telling the truth so frankly, 
 but the moral gain is much greater than the loss. You are a brave 
 boy, Isaac Simms, and worthy of being a second George Washing 
 ton.' I do like him so much! Can't you send him something, 
 mother, if it's nothing more than the nice cough-candy you used to 
 make, or some of tkat poke-ointment ? I notice he coughs occasion 
 ally, and I heard him say his feet were sore. I'd like to give him 
 something, just to see his handsome white teeth when he laughed, 
 and said 'Thank you, my boy." Oh, I would almost die for Captain 
 Carleton." 
 
 Surely, after reading this, the widow could feel no 
 more animosity against the Carletons, on account of 
 Jimmie's sin. 
 
 " Every family must have a black sheep," she said to 
 Annie, though where hers was she could not tell. It 
 surely was not John, nor Eli, nor Isaac, so she guessed 
 it must have been the girl-baby that died before 'twas 
 born, and for whom she shed so many tears. She 
 shouldn't do it again, she'd bet, for if it had lived, it 
 would most likely have cut up some rusty or other, just 
 as Jim Carleton had, married Hill Baker, like as not ;
 
 80 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 and with this consolatory reflection, the widow took up 
 Isaac's letter for a second time, resolving in her own 
 mind that she would send that Captain Carleton some 
 thing if she set up nights to make it. 
 
 "I'm glad my boy didn't tell a lie," she whispered 
 softly to herself, as she came again to that part of the 
 letter, poor, weak human nature creeping in with the 
 same thought, and suggesting how grand it would be to 
 have him "Sergeant Simms, with the increased wages 
 per month it would have brought." This was the old 
 Adam counselling within her, while the new Adam said, 
 " Better never to be promoted than lose his integrity," 
 and with a silent prayer for the boy who would not tell 
 a lie, the widow folded up the letter, and then repeated 
 to Annie the particulars of Jimmie Carleton in a much 
 milder manner than she would have done an hour before. 
 So much good little acts of kindness do, stretching on 
 link after link, until they reach a point from which they 
 recoil in blessings on the doer's head. Thus Captain 
 Carleton's friendly words to Isaac Simms were the direct 
 means of saving his mother and sister from the bitter 
 prejudice the Rockland people, in their then excitable 
 state, might have felt toward them, had Widow Simms 
 told the story of Jimmie in the spirit, she surely would 
 have told it, had it not been for Isaac's timely letter. 
 This, together with a little judicious caution from Annie, 
 changed her tactics, and though she, that very night, 
 had several opportunities for telling how " Miss Marther- 
 ses brother was a rebel, and that Miss Marthers coiildn't 
 see the mighty harm in it if he was," she kept it to 
 herself, speaking only of the noble Tom, so kind to hei 
 boy Isaac.
 
 FINDING SOMETHING TO DO. 81 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 FINDING SOMETHING TO DO FOB THE WAB. 
 
 Si 
 
 'HE next morning the Mather carriage, containing 
 both Mrs. Carleton and Rose, drove down the 
 Hollow, and stopped in front of Annie's gate. 
 Mrs. Carle ton's business was with "Widow Simms, who 
 was mixing bread in the kitchen, and who experienced 
 considerable trepidation when told " the grand Boston 
 lady " had asked for her. 
 
 "I'm pesky glad I hain't tattled about Jim," she 
 thought, as washing the flour from her hands and 
 hooking her sleeves at the wrist she entered the sitting- 
 room, and with a low courtesy, waited to hear the lady's 
 errand. 
 
 Mrs. Carleton had come with a request that the widow 
 should not repeat what Hose had so heedlessly told her 
 the previous night. 
 
 " You may think it strange that I care so much," Mrs. 
 Carleton said, " and until you are placed in similar cir 
 cumstances you cannot understand how I shrink from 
 having it known that my son could fall so low, or do so 
 great injustice to his early training." 
 
 If the widow had possessed one particle of prejudice 
 against the Carletons, this would have disarmed her en 
 tirely, but she did no.t. Isaac's letter had swept that all 
 away, and she replied that " Jimmie's secret was as safe 
 with her as if locked up in an iron chest." 
 
 " I did feel blazin' mad at you, though, for a spell," 
 she said, " for I thought you might have brung him up 
 better; but this cured me entirely," and she handed 
 Isaac's letter to Eose, bidding her read it aloud. 
 4*
 
 82 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 " Noble boy ! You must be proud of him," was Mrs. 
 Carleton's comment, while Rose, ever impulsive, seized 
 upon a new idea. 
 
 It would be so nice for the Eockland ladies to fit up a 
 box of things and send to Company R, reserving a cor 
 ner for Tom and Will. She should do it, anyway, on 
 her own responsibility, if nobody chose to help her, and 
 she whispered to Annie that George should have a large 
 share of the delicacies she would provide. 
 
 " You may send that candy to Tom, if you choose," 
 she said to the widow, "though I think cod liver oil 
 would be better. And the ointment too, only it mustn't 
 sit near my preserves, for fear the two will get mixed." 
 
 Rose had found something to do, and so absorbed was 
 she in a plan which every one approved, that she forgot 
 to cry all the time for Witt, as she had fully intended do 
 ing. Up the streets and down she went, sometimes 
 walking, sometimes riding, but always in a flurry, always 
 excited, now tumbling over dry-goods boxes in quest of 
 one large enough to hold the many articles preparing in 
 Rockland for the then ill-fed, suffering soldiers of the 
 13th Regiment, now up at the express office, bargaining 
 about the expense, which she meant to bear herself, and now 
 down at the Hall, adroitly smoothing over little bicker 
 ings frequently arising among the ladies assembled there, 
 concerning the articles sent in, some declaring the fried 
 apple pies brought by Mrs. Baker should not go, nor 
 yet the round balls of Dutch cheese she had saved sour 
 milk two weeks to make, just because " Billy relished it 
 so much, 'long with apple turnovers." 
 
 Poor old Mrs. Baker ! It was the best she could do, and 
 when Rose saw how the tears came at the prospect of 
 Billy's losing the feast she had prepared with so much 
 care, she declared the cheese should go if she had to send it
 
 FINDING SOMETHING TO DO. 83 
 
 in a separate box. It was just so with the widow's poke 
 ointment, some of the ladies wondering what next would 
 be brought in and what it could be for. Hose knew 
 exactly w r hat 'twas for; Tom had corns, and the despised 
 salve was for him, so that should go if nothing else. 
 But when Susan Ruggles Siinms, her thoughts intent on 
 John, brought in a round of roasted veal, which her * 
 mother-in-law said would be in a most lively condition 
 by the time it reached "Washington, Rose, after suggest 
 ing that it be packed in ice and put in a refrigerator, 
 yielded for once, and persuaded the girl-wife to carry 
 home her veal, which would most surely be spoiled ere 
 John came to see it. 
 
 " You can write him a nice long letter, " she said, when 
 she saw how disappointed Susan looked. " You can tell 
 him your intentions were good until we old experienced 
 married ladies persuaded you out of them." 
 
 So Susan, with a sigh, carried back her nice stuffed 
 roast, the widow muttering in an aside tone, " That's all 
 them shiftless Ruggleses know ! Might as well send 
 rnaggits and done with it." 
 
 It was a strange medley that huge box contained, for 
 every member of Company R was remembered, thanks 
 to the indefatigable Rose, who procured a list of the 
 names, and when she found any without friends in that 
 immediate vicinity, she supplied the deficiency from her 
 own store of luxuries. Of course Will and Tom fared the 
 best, while next to them came Lieutenant Graham and 
 Isaac Simms, Rose writing a tiny note to the latter, tell 
 ing him how much she liked him for speaking so of Tom, 
 and sending him a pair of her fine linen sheets, because 
 she couldn't think of anything else, and thought these 
 would be cool to sleep in on hot summer nights. Dear 
 little Rose ! how fast she grew in popularity, the people
 
 84 BOSE MATHER. 
 
 wondering they had never seen before how good she was, 
 and imputing some portion of her present interest to the 
 presence of her mother, who had made arrangements to 
 remain for an indefinite length of time in Rockland, and 
 who, far less demonstrative than her active daughter, 
 did much by her sensible advice to keep the wheel in 
 motion, and Hose from overdoing the matter so zealously 
 taken in hand. 
 
 The box was packed at last ; every chink and crevice 
 was full. Mrs. Baker's Dutch cheese and fried apple 
 pies were there, wrapped by Rose Mather in innumera 
 ble folds of paper, tied around with yards of the strong 
 est twine she could find, and safely stowed away where 
 they could not be harmed ; Widow Simms's ointment 
 too, and the candy she had made, occupied a corner, to 
 gether with her daguerreotype sent to Isaac, and a letter 
 to Captain Carleton. That letter was a mammoth under 
 taking, but the widow felt it her duty to write it, groan 
 ing and sweating, and consulting Perry's old leathern- 
 bound dictionary for every word of which she felt at all 
 uncertain, and driving poor Annie nearly distracted 
 with asking " if this were grammar, and if that were too 
 lovin' like, for a widder to send a widower." Not a little 
 amused, Annie gave the required advice, smiling in spite 
 of herself, as she read the note the widow handed her, 
 and which ran as follows : 
 
 " MY DEAE MB. CAPTIN CAP.LETON : I can't help puttin' dear before 
 your name, you seem so nigh to me since Isaac told how kind you 
 was to him. I'm nothin' but a shrivelled, dried up widder, fifty odd 
 years old, but I've got a mother's heart big enough to take you in 
 with my other boys. I know you are a nice, clever man, but 
 whether j'ou're a good one, as I call good, I don't know, though bein 1 
 you come from Boston I'm afraid you're a Unitarian, and I'll never 
 quit prayin' for you till I know. That's about all I can do, for I'm 
 poor a'most as Job's turkey; but if there's any shirts or trouses, or the
 
 FINDING SOMETHING TO DO. 85 
 
 like o' that wants makin', let me know, for I don't believe your 
 mother or sister is great at sewin'. Mrs. Marthers ain't, I know, 
 though as nice a little body as ever drawed the breath. Tour wife is 
 dead, too, they say, and that comes hard agin. I know just how 
 that feels, for my man died eighteen years ago last October, a few 
 weeks before Isaac was born. 
 
 " I send you some intment for your feet, and some bits of linen 
 rags to bind round your toes ; also, some red pepper candy, and my 
 likeness to Isaa-3, He'll let you see it if you want to. It don't 'pear 
 to me that my eyes is as dull as that, or my lips so puckered up, but 
 we can't see as others see us, and I ain't an atom proud. Heaven 
 bless you for being kind to Isaac, and if an old woman's prayers and 
 blessin's is of any use, you may be sure you have mine. If yon 
 come to battle, be so good ns to oversee him, won't you, and git bim 
 put way back, if you can. Excuse haste and a bad pen, 
 " Yours with regret, 
 
 "MBS. BELINDA SIMMS," 
 
 This was the widow's letter, sent with Tom's parcel to 
 Washington, where the box was greeted by the company 
 with exclamations of joy, and could those who sent it 
 have seen the eager, happy faces of each one as he found 
 he was remembered, they would have felt doubly repaid 
 for all the trouble and annoyance it had cost them. 
 Only one growl of dissatisfaction was heard, and that 
 from Harry Baker, who, with a muttered oath, exclaimed, 
 as he undid his paper parcel, 
 
 "Apple turnovers, by jing! Sourer than swill, and 
 mouldier than the rot. Halloo, Bill, got some too, I see. 
 What in fury is this ? Dutch cheese, as I'm alive. Make 
 good bullets for Secesh, so here goes!" and the next 
 moment there whizzed through the air the cheese poor 
 old Mrs. Baker had found so hard to smuggle in. The 
 apple pies followed next, and then the reckless Harry 
 amused himself with jeering at Bill, who, after carefully 
 stowing away in his pocket, the large, strong twine Rose 
 Mather had bound around the paper parcel, seated him-
 
 86 EOSE MATHER 
 
 self upon the ground, and was munching away at hia 
 pie, not because he liked it, but because his mother had 
 sent it, and Billy's mother was dearer to him now than 
 when he was at home. 
 
 Meanwhile, in another part of the camp, Tom Carleton 
 was opening his parcel, while around him stood a group 
 of officers, some his personal friends whom he had known 
 in Boston. 
 
 " There must be some mistake," he said, as he daubed 
 his white fingers with the sticky candy. But Eose had 
 packed his things in a separate box, and directed it her 
 self. There could be no mistake, and he continued his 
 investigations, coming next upon the widow's picture, 
 which Rose had carelessly placed in his parcel. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe Tom's look of 
 amazement and perplexity, as his eye fell upon the face 
 which looked out upon him from its glass covering. 
 Precise, puckered, and prim, with a decided best-clothes 
 air. "Who could it be ? Tom asked this question aloud, 
 while his companions laughingly declared it some lady 
 love he had left behind, suggesting at last that he read 
 the note which lay just beneath it, as that might explain 
 the mystery. So Tom. did read it, with a fellow-officer 
 looking over his shoulder, and reading too. But there 
 was too much of the anxious, genuine mother-tone about 
 that letter to cause more than three or four hearty 
 laughs at the expense of Tom and the widow. Tom 
 knew now for whom the picture was intended, and he 
 carried it to Isaac, but it was many a day ere Tom Carle- 
 ton heard the last of Mrs. Udinda Simms ! 
 
 Numerous were the thanks sent by Company R to 
 Rose for her kind thoughtfulness in setting afloat a plan 
 which brought them so much good, and Rose, as she 
 received the messages, wished it was all to be done
 
 FINDING SOMETHING TO DO 87 
 
 again, and wondered what she could find to do next. 
 One of "Will's letters told her at last what to do. She could 
 be kind to the soldiers, if there were any in Rockland. 
 She could visit their families, speak to them words of 
 comfort, and supply, if needful, their necessities. This 
 was just what suited her, and she commenced her ta/;k 
 with a right good will, startling many an awkward youth 
 wearing a soldier's dress, by accosting him in the street, 
 inquiring into his history, and frequently ending the in 
 terview by offering him her soft white hand, and leaving 
 in his rougher one a piece of money, which affected him 
 less than the brightness of the brilliant eyes he remem 
 bered long after the silver was spent. Every soldier's 
 wife and every soldier's mother was looked after, and 
 the Mather carriage was oftener seen in the muddy Hol 
 low and by lanes in Kockland, than at .the gates of more 
 pretentious dwellings. Harry's mother and Bill's, and 
 others of her standing, blessed the little lady, for the 
 sunshine brought so often to their squalid homes, while 
 Annie and Widow Simms prayed from a full heart that 
 no evil should befall the husband or the brother of the 
 heroic Hose. 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 "N 
 
 BIGHTLY, beautifully the Sabbath morning broke 
 over all the hills of the Northland, covering them 
 with floods of rosy light, burnishing the forest 
 trees with sheens of gold, and cresting each tall spire 
 with colors which seemed born of Paradise, so radiantly 
 bright they looked, flashing from their lofty resting-
 
 88 ROBE MATHER 
 
 place, and glancing off across the valleys where the 
 fields of waving corn and summer wheat were growing. 
 To the westward, too, where prairie on prairie stretches 
 on into almost interminable space, the same July sun 
 was shining, as quietly, as peacefully, as if in the hearts 
 of men there burned no bitter feeling of fierce and vin 
 dictive hate, no thirsting for each other's blood. Oh, 
 how calm, how still it was that Sunday morning both 
 east, and north and west, and as the sun rose higher in 
 the heavens, how soothingly the bells rang out their mu 
 sical chimes. From New England's templed hills to the 
 far-off shores of Oregon, the echoes rose and fell, ceasing 
 only when ceased the tramp of the many feet hastening 
 up to worship God in his appointed way. Old and 
 young, rich and poor, father and mother, sister and 
 brother, husband and wife, assembling together to keep 
 the holy day, that best day of the seven, praying not so 
 much for their own sins forgiven as for the loved ones 
 gone to war, the dear ones far away, and little, little 
 dreaming as they prayed, how the same sun stealing so 
 softly up the church's aisle, and shining on the church's 
 wall, was even then looking down on a far different 
 scene, a scene of carnage, blood and death. For, off to 
 the southward, near where the waters of the Potomac 
 ripple past the grave of our nation's hero, another con 
 course of people was gathered together; their Sunday bell 
 the cannon's roar; their Sunday hymn the battle-cry. 
 
 Long before the earliest robin had trilled its matin 
 song, they had been on the move, their bristling bayonets 
 glittering in the brilliant moonlight like the December 
 frost, as with regular, even tread they kept on their wind 
 ing way, knowing not if the pale stars watch ing their 
 course so pityingly, as it were, would ever shine on them 
 again. Onward, onward, onward still they pressed ;
 
 THE BATTLE. 89 
 
 over the In'lls, through the ravines, down the valleys, across 
 the fields, till the same sun which shone so softly on their 
 distant homes rose also over the Federal Fly, as it has 
 been aptly termed, moving onward to the Web which lay be 
 yond, so well concealed and so devoid of sound that none 
 could guess that the treacherous woods, wearing so cool, 
 so inviting a look, were sheltering a mighty, expectant 
 host, watching as eagerly for the advancing foe as ever 
 ambushed spider waited for its deluded prey. Backward, 
 backward, stretched the Confederate army, line after 
 line, rank after rank, battalion after battalion, until in 
 numbers it more than quadrupled that handful of men 
 steadily moving on. From out their leafy covert the en 
 emy peered, exulting that the fortunes of the great Ee- 
 public, their whilom mother, were so surely within their 
 power, and pausing for a time in sheer wantonness, just 
 as a kitten sports with the mouse she has already cap 
 tured, and knows cannot escape. Onward, onward, 
 onward swept the Federal troops; their polished arms 
 and glittering uniforms flashing in the morning sunlight 
 just as the flag for which they fought waved in the morn 
 ing breeze. They were weary and worn, and their lips 
 were parched with feverish thirst, for hours had passed 
 since they had tasted food or water. But not for this did 
 they tarry; there was no faltering in their ranks, no faint 
 ly beating heart, no wild yearning to be away, no timid 
 shrinking from what the woods, now just before them, 
 might hold in store, and Avhen the whisper ran along the 
 lines that the enemy was in view, there was noiight felt 
 save joy, that the long suspense was ended and the fray 
 about to commence. 
 
 There was a halt in the front ranks, and while they 
 stand there thus, let us look once more upon those whom
 
 90 EOSE MATHEE. 
 
 we have known. Just where the good humored faces of 
 the Irish regiment, and the tall caps of the Highlanders 
 are perceptible, the 13th appears in view, our company 
 marching decorously on, no lagging, no faltering, no 
 cowards there, though almost every heart had in it 
 some thought of home and the dear ones left behind. 
 Prayers were said by lips unused to pray, and who shall 
 tell how many records of sins forgiven were that morn 
 ing written in heaven? Bibles, too, were pressed to 
 throbbing hearts, and to none more closely than to 
 George Graham's broad chest. He had prayed that 
 morning in the clear moonlight, and by the same moon 
 light he had tried to read a line in Annie's well-worn 
 Bible, opening to where God promises to care for the 
 widow and the fatherless. Was it ominous, that passage ? 
 Did it mean that he, so strong, so vigorous, so full of life, 
 should bite the dust ere many hours were done ? He 
 could not believe it. He was too full of hope for that. 
 He could not die with Annie at home alone, so he but 
 toned her Bible over his heart, and prayed that if a bul 
 let struck him it might be there, -fondly hoping that 
 would break its force. 
 
 There was a shadow on his handsome face, and it com 
 municated itself to Isaac Simms, who was glancing so 
 stealthily at him, and guessing of what he was thinking. 
 Isaac, too, had prayed in the moonlight, and he, too, had 
 thought, "What if I should be killed!" wondering if 
 his mother ever would forget her soldier boy, even though 
 she might not weep over his nameless grave. This to 
 Isaac was the hardest thought of all. The boy that would 
 not tell a lie for the sake of promotion, was not afraid to 
 die, but he preferred that it should not be there 'mid piles of 
 bloody slain. He would rather death should conie to him 
 up in the humble attic, where he had lain so oft and list-
 
 THE BATTLE. 91 
 
 ened to the patter of the rain on the roof above, or 
 feigned to be asleep when his mother stole noiselessly 
 across the threshold to see if he were covered from the 
 cold and shielded from the snow, which sometimes found 
 an entrance through a crevice in the wall. 'Tis strange 
 when we are in danger what flights our fancy often takes, 
 gathering up the minutest details of our past life, and 
 spreading them out before us with startling distinctness. 
 So Isaac, with possible death in advance, thought of his 
 past life; of every object connected with his home, from 
 the grass plat in the rear, where his mother bleached her 
 clothes in spring, to the blue and white checked blanket 
 hung round his attic bed to protect him from the winter 
 storm. That widow, so stern, so harsh, so sharp to al 
 most every one, had been the tenderest of parents to him, 
 and a tear glistened on the cheek of the fair-haired boy 
 as he remembered the only time he ever was hateful to 
 her. He had asked her forgiveness for it, and she surely 
 would not recall it when she read the letter Eli or John 
 would send, bearing the fatal line, " Mother, poor Isaac 
 is dead." He knew they would call him "poor Isaac," 
 for though they sometimes teased him as his " mother's 
 great girl baby," they petted him quite as much as she, 
 only in a different way, and he felt now that both would 
 step between him and the bullet they thought would 
 harm him. Eli would any way, but- John, perhaps, would 
 hesitate, as he now loved Susan best. Isaac was proud 
 of his brothers, and he glanced admiringly at them as 
 they marched side by side, keeping even step just as they 
 did down Main street, with his mother and Susan looking 
 on. One now was thinking of Susan, and one of his wid 
 owed mother. 
 
 Close by Isaac walked Bill, quiet and subdued. He 
 had not prayed that morning, he never prayed; but
 
 92 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 when he saw Isaac kneeling on his blanket he had said to 
 him, " Manage to get in a word or two for me and Hal; we 
 need it, mercy knows." And surely if ever poor mortal 
 needed prayer it was Hal, as his brother styled him. 
 Half stupefied with the vile liquor he had constantly man 
 aged to get, he trudged on, boasting of what he could do; 
 " only give him a chance and he'd lick the entire Secession 
 army. He'd like to see the ball that could kill him ; he 
 was good at dodging; he'd show 'em a thing or two in the 
 the way of fight; he'd take the tuck out of the Southern 
 gentlemen, yes, he would," and so he went thought 
 lessly boasting on to death 1 
 
 Will Mather was not there. Indisposition had de 
 tained him at Washington, and with a hearty God speed 
 he had sent his comrades on their way, lamenting that 
 he, too, could not join them, and bidding his brother-in 
 law do some fighting for him. 
 
 At the head of his company Capt. Carleton moved. 
 Firm, erect, and dignified, as if born to command, he did 
 full justice to the Carleton name, of which he was justly 
 proud; but his face was paler than its wont, and a tinge 
 of sadness rested upon it as his regiment halted at last in 
 front of what was supposed to be the hidden foe. Thomas 
 Carleton had wept bitter tears when he laid his Mary to rest 
 beneath South Carolina's sunny skies, and had thought 
 he could never be reconciled to the loss, but he was half 
 glad now that she was dead, for she was born of South 
 ern blood, and he would rather she. should not know the 
 errand which had brought him to Virginia, where first lie
 
 THE BATTLE. 93 
 
 met and loved her, rather she should not know how he 
 had come to war with her people. There was another 
 thought, too, which made him sad that July day. The 
 green, beautiful woods standing there so silently before 
 him probably sheltered more than one with whom he had 
 in bygone days struck the friendly hand and bandied the 
 friendly joke, for his home was once in Eichmond, and 
 there were there those who once held no small place in his 
 heart. And they were dear to him yet. He was not fight 
 ing against them personally, he was contending only for his 
 nation's rights, his country's honor. He bore no malice to 
 ward his Southern brethren, and like many of our staunch- 
 est, bravest Northern men, he would even then have met 
 them more than half way with terms of reconciliation. He 
 knew they were no race of bloodthirsty demons, as some 
 fanatics had madly termed them. They were men, most 
 of them, like himself, warm-hearted, impulsive men, 
 generous almost to a fault in peace, but firm and terrible 
 in war. Tom had lived among them, had shared their 
 hospitalities, had seen them in their various phases, and 
 making allowance for the vast difference which education 
 and habits of society make in one's opinions, he saw 
 many points wherein the North had misunderstood their 
 actions, and not made due concessions when they might 
 have done so without yielding one iota of their honor. 
 But time for concession was over now. Political fana 
 tics had stirred up the mass of the people till nought but 
 blood could wash away the fancied wrong. And they 
 were there that Sabbath morn to spill it. Tom, however, 
 did not know that the green, silent woods sheltered his 
 brother, for his mother had purposely withheld from him 
 the fact that Jimmie had joined the Southern Army. 
 She knew the struggle it had cost him to take up arms 
 against a people he liked so much, and she would not wil-
 
 94 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 lingly add to his burden by telling him of Jimmie's sin; 
 and it was well she did not, for had he .known how near 
 he was to Jimmie, he could not have stood there so un 
 moved, awaiting the first booming gun which should her 
 ald the opening of the battle. 
 
 It came at last, a bellowing, thunderous roar, whose 
 echoes shook the hills for miles, as the hissing shell 
 went plowing through the air, bursting harmlessly at 
 last just beyond its destined mark. The enemy were in 
 no hurry to retort, for a deep silence ensued, broken ere 
 long by another heavy gun, which did its work more 
 thoroughly than its predecessor had done, for where sev 
 eral breathing souls had been there was nought left save 
 the bleeding mutilated trunks of what were once human 
 forms. The battle had commenced. Sherman's Bri 
 gade, in which was the N. Y. 13th, did its part nobly, 
 overrunning in its headlong charges battery after battery, 
 and recking little of the shafts of death falling so thick 
 and fast. Louder and more deafening grew the battle 
 din, hoarser and heavier the battle thunder, denser, 
 deeper the battle smoke, dimming the brightness of that 
 Sabbath morn. Louder, shriller grew the Gaelic scream, 
 fiercer rose the Celtic cry, wilder rang the yells of the 
 13th, as its members plunged into the thickest of the fight 
 their demoniacal shouts appalling the hearts of the foe 
 far more than the rain of shot so vigorously kept up, and 
 causing them to flee as from a pack of fiends. 
 
 Steady in its place George Graham's giant form was 
 seen; no thought of Annie now; no thought of home; 
 no thought of Bible buttoned over the heart; thoughts 
 only of the fray and victory. 
 
 Not far away, and where the fight was thickest, 
 the widow's boys, Eli and John, stood firm as granite 
 rocks, the beaded sweat dropping from their burning
 
 THE BATTLE. 95 
 
 brows, begrimed with battle smoke, as with unflinch 
 ing nerve and hands that trembled not, they took 
 their aims, seeing more than one fall before their sure 
 fire. 
 
 "White as the winter snow one boyish face gleamed 
 amid the excited throng; the fair hair pushed back from 
 the girlish forehead, and the scorching sun falling upon 
 the unsheltered head, for Isaac's cap had been shot away, 
 and the ball which shot it lay swimming in the dark life 
 blood of poor Harry Baker, just behind, and just two 
 inches taller than the widow's youngest born. Poor 
 Harry ! He had done his best to keep the promise made 
 so boastfully. In all the 13th Regiment there was not 
 one who played a braver part then he, firing off with 
 every gun a timely joke, which raised a smile even in 
 that dreadful hour. But Harry's work was done, and 
 Mrs. Baker had but one boy now, for her first-born lay 
 upon the ground so blackened and disfigured, with the 
 thick brains slowly oozing from his mangled head, and 
 the purple gore pouring from his lips, that only those 
 who saw him fall, could guess that it was Harry. Poor 
 Harry ! We say it again, sadly, reverently, for rude and 
 reckless though he was, he fell fighting for his country; 
 and to all who perish thus we owe a debt of gratitude, a 
 meed of praise. Sacred, then, be the memory of those 
 whose graves are with the slain, far away beneath Vir 
 ginia's sky, and sacred be the memory of poor Harry- 
 Baker. His own worst enemy, he lived his life's brief 
 span, and died at last a soldier's death. 
 
 "Shot plump through the upper story! "Won't the 
 old woman row it, though?" was Bill's characteristic
 
 96 ROSE MATHER, 
 
 comment, as the whizzing and the death shriek met his 
 ear, and the falling, bleeding figure met his view. 
 
 Spite of his jeering words there was a keen pang in 
 Billy's heart as he shrank away from the gory mass he 
 knew had been his brother, a sudden up-heaving of 
 something in his throat and a blur before his vision, as 
 he began to realize what it was to go to war. But there 
 was then no time to waste over a fallen brother. The 
 dread work must go on, and with the whispered words, 
 " Poor Hal, I'll do the tender for you when we get the 
 varments licked," he marked the position by signs he 
 could not miss, and then pressed closer to his comrade, 
 saying, as he did so 
 
 " Ike, Hal's a goner. Shot right through his top-knot, 
 with a piece of your cap wedged in his skull. If you'd 
 been a leetle taller you'd been scalped instead of HaL 
 So much you get for bein' ' Stub/ " 
 
 Isaac shuddered involuntarily, but ere he could look 
 back the crowd behind pushed him forward, and so he 
 failed to see the ruin which, but for his short stature, 
 would have come to him. There were no marks upon 
 him yet, nothing, save the uncovered head, to tell where 
 he had been. The balls which struck down others passed 
 him by, the wind they ma'de lifting occasionally his fair 
 hair, but doing no other damage. Above, around, be 
 fore, behind, at right, at left, the grape shot fell like hail, 
 but left him all untouched, and Billy, grown timid since 
 poor Harry's fate, pressed closer to the boy who would 
 not tell a lie, as if there were safety there. 
 
 Onward, onward they pressed, Isaac wondering some 
 times how Tom Carleton fared, and looking again in 
 quest of their young Lieutenant Graham, still towering 
 above them all, in spite of Rose's prediction. The ball
 
 THE BATTLE. 97 
 
 for -which he was the mark had not been fired yet, but it 
 was coming. An Alabamian volunteer had singled out 
 that form, yelling exultingly as he saw it reel and totter 
 like a broken reed. They were well matched in size, the 
 two combatants, both splendid marks, as Hose had said, 
 and Bill Baker's sure aim froze the laugh upon the Ala- 
 bamian's lips and sent him staggering to the ground, 
 just as Isaac received his captain's orders to lead the 
 fainting, wounded George to a place of comparative 
 safety. 
 
 " It's only my arm they've shattered," George whis 
 pered, glancing sadly at the disabled limb over which 
 Isaac's tears were falling. " Will it kill me, think ?" was 
 the next remark, prompted by a thought of Annie. 
 
 Isaac did not believe it would, and with all a woman's 
 tenderness he bound it up and held his canteen to the 
 .dps of the fainting, weary man, whispering, 
 
 " Water, boy, water." 
 
 Isaac had not, like many others, thrown his canteen 
 away, and he gave freely to the thirsty George, who, 
 with each draught, felt his pulse grow stronger, while 
 his eyes kindled with fresh zeal as the noise of the battle 
 grew louder, and seemed to be coming nearer. The on- 
 slaiight was terrible now. Cannon after cannon belched 
 forth its terrific thunder, ball after ball sped on its deadly 
 track, battei-y after battery opened its blazing fire, shell 
 after shell cut the summer air, and burst with murderous 
 hiss ; shout after shout rent the smoky sky, shriek after 
 shriek went down with the rushing wind, officer after 
 officer bit the dust, rank after rank was broken up, soul 
 after soul went to the bar of God, and then there came 
 a pause. The firing ceased, the stifling smoke rolled 
 gradually away, and showed a dreadful sight, men mu- 
 5
 
 98 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 tilated and torn, till not a vestige of tlieir former looks 
 was left to tell who they had been. Mingled together, 
 in one frightful mass, the dead and dying lay, smiles 
 wreathing the livid lips of some, and frowns disfiguring 
 others. Arms, hands, and feet, heads, fingers, toes, and 
 clots of human hair, dripping red with blood, were scat 
 tered over the field, parts of the living mass we saw but 
 a few hours agone moving on so hopefully beneath the 
 morning moonlight, " Like leaves of the forest when au 
 tumn hath blown," they lay there now, their mangled re 
 mains crying loudly to Heaven for vengeance on the 
 heads of those who brought this curse upon us. 
 
 CHAPTER Yin. 
 
 THE KETKEAT. 
 
 jf HE day was ours, nobly won with sweat and toil 
 and blood, and the brave men who won it were 
 thinking of the laurels so laboriously earned, 
 when suddenly the entire scale was turned, and ere they 
 knew what they were doing, the tired, jaded troops found 
 themselves rushing headlong from the battle-field, never 
 so much as casting a backward glance, but each striving 
 to out -run the other, and so escape from they knew not 
 what ! How that panic happened no one can tell. Some 
 charged it to the reckless conduct of a band of Regulars 
 sent back for ammunition, and others upon the idle 
 lookers-on, the curious ones, who had come " to see the 
 Rebels whipped," and who at the first intimation of de-
 
 THE EETEEAT. 99 
 
 feat joined in the general stampede, making the confu 
 sion worse, and adding greatly to the fright of the flying 
 multitude. 
 
 It was a strange retreat our soldiers made. All law 
 and order were at an end, company mixed with 
 company, regiment with regiment, and together they 
 rushed headlong down the hill, many in their dismay 
 fording the creek regardless of the shot and shell sent 
 after them by the astonished foe, now really in pur 
 suit. 
 
 Some there were, however, who made the retreat more 
 leisurely, and among these, Bill Baker. Remembering 
 the mark he had fixed in his own mind, he sought among 
 the slain for Harry, finding him at last, trampled and 
 crushed by the flying troops, and wholly unrecognizable 
 by any save a brother's eye. Bill knew him, however, 
 in a moment, but there was no time now to " do the ten 
 der," as he had purposed doing. There was danger in 
 tarrying long, and with a shudder Bill bent over the 
 mangled form, and with his jack-knife severed a lock of 
 matted, bloodwet hair, taking also from the pockets 
 whatever of value they contained, not from any avari 
 cious motive, but rather from a feeling that the rebels 
 should get nothing save the body. 
 
 " A darned sight good Hal's carcass will do ye !" he 
 said, shaking his fist defiantly in the direction of the foe, 
 " but the wust is your own this hot weather, if you don't 
 bury him decently;" then turning to the lifeless gore, he 
 continued: "Poor Hal! I'm kinder sorry you are dead. 
 You had now and then a streak of good about you, and 
 I'm sorry we ever quarreled, I be, upon my word, and I 
 wish you could hear me say so; but you can't, knocked 
 into a cocked up hat as you are, poor Hal. If there was
 
 100 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 a spot on your face as big as a sixpence that wasn't 
 smashed into a jelly, I'd kiss you just for the old woman's 
 sake, but I swan if I can stomach it ! I might your 
 hands, perhaps/' and bending lower, Bill's lips touched 
 the clammy fingers of the dead. 
 
 There was something in the touch which brought to 
 Bill's heart a pang similar to the one he felt when he 
 saw his brother fall, and rising to his feet, he said, 
 mournfully: 
 
 " Good-bye, old Hal, I'm going now ; I wish you might 
 go, too. Good-bye," and wiping away a tear which felt 
 much out of place on his rough cheek, Bill walked away, 
 saying to himself, " Poor Hal. I didn't s'pose I had 
 such a hankerin' for him. Didn't s'pose I cared for 
 nobody; but such a day's work as this finds the soft spot 
 in a feller's heart if he's got any. Poor Hal ! Mother'!! 
 nigh about raise the ruff 7" 
 
 Thus soliloquizing Bill moved on, not rapidly as others 
 did, but rather leisurely than otherwise. He seemed to 
 be benumbed, and did not care much what became of 
 himself. "VVading the stream he trudged on, now won 
 dering "What the plague they all were running for, 
 when they'd got the rascals licked," and again anathe 
 matizing the shot which fell around him. 
 
 " S'pose I care for you," he said, hitting a spent ball a 
 kick. " S'pose I care if I do get killed ? better do that 
 than to run." 
 
 Then reflecting that to be shot in the back was not 
 considered a distinguished mark of honor, he hastened 
 his lagging steps until the shelter of the wood was 
 reached. Bill was very tired, and feeling comparatively 
 safe, determined not to travel farther until he had had 
 some rest. Hunting out a thick clump of underbrush,
 
 THE RETREAT. 101 
 
 near a stream of water, where he would be sheltered 
 from observation, he crawled into its midst, and was ere 
 long sleeping soundly, wholly oblivious to the strange 
 sights and sounds around him, as squad after squad of 
 soldiers hurried by. 
 
 Meanwhile George Graham was sitting faint and weary 
 beneath the tree, when the first token of the retreat met 
 his view. 
 
 " See, they are running," Isaac said, grasping his 
 sound arm in some affright. "Let us run, too. You 
 lean on me, and I'll lead you safely through." 
 
 With a bitter groan, George attempted to rise, but 
 sank back again from utter exhaustion. A species of 
 apathy had stolen over him, and he would rather stay 
 there and die, he said, than make the attempt to tlee. 
 He did not think of Annie, until Isaac, bending down, 
 said, entreatingly : 
 
 " It will be horrid for Annie to know you died, when 
 you might have got away. Try for Annie's sake, can't 
 you ?" 
 
 Yes, for Annie's sake he could, and at the mere men- 
 of her name, the dim eye kindled, and the pale cheeks 
 glowed, while the wounded man made another effort to 
 rise. He succeeded this time, and with slow steps the 
 two commenced their retreat. It was a novel sight, that 
 tall, muscular man, towering head and shoulders above 
 the frail boy, upon whom he leaned heavily for support, 
 the generous Isaac, who would not leave him there 
 alone, even though he knew the danger he was incurring 
 j>for himself. 
 
 " They'll treat us decent if we're taken prisoners, won't 
 they, think ?" lie asked, as the possibility of such a calam 
 ity was suggested to his mind.
 
 102 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 Not till then had George thought of that. They 
 would not murder a wounded man, he was sure, but 
 they might take him prisoner, and death itself was al 
 most preferable to days of captivity and sickening sus 
 pense away from Annie. The very idea roused him into 
 life, and with a superhuman effort, he hastened on, al 
 most outrunning Isaac, until they, too, had reached the 
 friendly woods where Bill had already taken shelter. 
 Just then a loaded wagon passed them, its frightened, 
 excited occupants paying no heed to Isaac's cry for help, 
 until one whose uniform showed him to be an officer, 
 sprang up, exclaiming : 
 
 " The strong must give place to the wounded. I can 
 find my way to Washington better than that bleeding 
 man!" and Tom Carleton seized the reins with a grasp 
 which brought the foaming steeds nearly to their 
 haunches. The vehicle was stopped, and the next in 
 stant Tom had leaped upon the ground, spraining his 
 ankle severely, and reeling in his first pain against the 
 astounded Isaac, who cried out, joyfully : 
 
 " Oh, Captain Carleton, save Lieutenant Graham, won't 
 you? We can walk, you and I." 
 
 Tom had not the least suspicion as to whom he was 
 befriending until then, and now, unmindful of his own 
 aching foot, he assisted George to the seat he had vacat 
 ed, and watched the party without a pang as they drove 
 rapidly away, leaving him alone with Isaac. 
 
 "We'll do the best we can, my boy," he said, cheerily, 
 as he met the confiding, inquiring look bent upon him 
 by Isaac, "who, relieved of his former charge, felt now 
 like leaning for protection and guidance upon Captain 
 Carleton. 
 
 Alas, his hopes were short-lived, for a groan just then 
 escaped from Tom's white lips, wrung out by the agony
 
 THE EETEEAT. 103 
 
 it cost him to step. Isaac saw him stagger when he 
 sprang to the ground, and comprehending the case at 
 once, he resumed his burden of care, and kneeling be 
 fore poor Tom, who had sunk upon the grass, he rubbed 
 the swollen limb as tenderly as Hose herself could have 
 done. 
 
 " If we could only find some water," Tom said, scan 
 ning the appearance of the woods, and judging at last by 
 indications which seldom failed, that there must be some 
 not very far away. " There where the bushes are," he 
 said, pointing toward the very spot where Bill lay 
 snoring soundly, and dreaming of robbing Parson 
 Goodwin's orchard, in company with Hal. " There must 
 be water there, and human beings too, for I hear singing, 
 don't you ?" 
 
 Isaac listened till he, too, caught a strain of melody, as 
 sad and low as if it were a funeral dirge some one was 
 trilling there. 
 
 " What can it mean ?" Tom said. " Lend me your 
 hand, my boy, and I'll soon find out." 
 
 It was a harder task to move than he anticipated, for 
 the ankle was swelling rapidly, and bearing the least 
 weight upon it made the pain intolerable. Leaning on 
 Isaac's shoulder, he managed to make slow progress to 
 ward the stream bubbling so deliciously among the 
 grass, and toward the music growing more and more dis 
 tinct. 
 
 It was reached at last, and the mystery was solved. 
 L eaning against a tree was a Confederate officer, whose 
 white face told plainer than words could tell that never 
 again would he be seen in the pine-shadowed home he 
 had left so unwillingly but a few months before. Beside 
 him upon the grass lay a boy, scarcely more than twelve 
 years old, a drummer in a company of New England
 
 104 E08E MATHER. 
 
 volunteers, both little hands shot entirely off, and the 
 bleeding stumps bound carefully up in the handkerchief 
 of the Kebel, who had smothered his own dying anguish 
 for the sake of comforting that poor child, sobbing so 
 piteously with pain. 
 
 " I didn't s'pose any of you was so good, or I shouldn't 
 have come to fight you. Oh, motherj mother, they do 
 ache so, my hands, my hands !" he said, the cry of 
 contrition ending in a childish wail for the mother sym 
 pathy never more to be experienced by that drummer 
 boy. 
 
 A smile flitted across the officer's face as he replied : 
 " 'Had we all known each other better, this war would 
 not have been," and the noble foe held the boy closer to 
 his bleeding bosom, dipping his hand in the running 
 stream, and laving the feverish brow where the drops 
 of sweat were standing. 
 
 " What makes you so kind to me ?" the dying boy 
 asked, his dim eyes gazing wistfully into the face bend 
 ing so sadly over him. 
 
 " I have a boy about your size, Charlie we call him," 
 the stranger said. 
 
 " And I am Charlie, too," the child replied, " Charlie 
 Tounglove, and my home is in New Hampshire, right on 
 the mountain side. Father is dead, and we are poor, 
 mother and I. That's why I came to the war. I wanted 
 to go to college, sometime. Do you think I'll die ? "Will 
 I never go home again ? never see mother nor little sis 
 ter either?" 
 
 The soldier groaned, and bent still closer to the drum 
 mer-boy, asking so earnestly if he must die. How could 
 he tell him yes, and yet he felt he must; he would not 
 be faithful to his trust if he withheld the knowledge, or 
 failed to point that dying one to the only source of life.
 
 THE RETREAT. 105 
 
 " Yes, Charlie," he answered, mournfully, " I think yon 
 will. Are you afraid to die ? Did your mother never 
 tell you of the Saviour ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, oh yes !" and the little face lighted up as ai 
 the mention of a dear friend. " I went to Sunday School, 
 and learned of Jesus there. I've prayed to him everj 
 night and every morning since I came from home. 1 
 promised her I would, mother, I mean, and she prays, 
 too. She said so in her letter, right here in my jacket 
 pocket. Don't you want to read it ?" 
 
 The officer shook his head, and Charlie went on : 
 
 " I didn't want to fight to-day, because I knew it was 
 Sunday, but I had to, or run away. Will God punish 
 me for that, think? Will he turn me out of Heaven ?" 
 
 "No, .no, -oh no!" and the North Carolinian's tears 
 dropped like rain upon the troubled face, upturned so 
 anxiously to his. "God will never punish those who 
 put their trust in Jesus." 
 
 "I do, I do, I do!" and the trembling voice grew 
 fainter, adding, after a pause : " You are a good man, I 
 know. You have been to Sunday School, I guess, and 
 you prayed this morning, didn't you ?" 
 
 The soldier answered, " Yes," and the child continued: 
 
 " You are dying, too, I 'most know, for there's blood 
 all over us. We'll go together, won't we, you and I? 
 Will there be war in Heaven, between the North and 
 South?" 
 
 " No, Charlie. There is naught but peace in Heaven," 
 and again the white hands laved the feverish forehead, 
 for the soldier would fain keep that little spirit till his 
 could join it company, and speed away to the land where 
 trouble is unknown. 
 
 But it could not be, for Charlie's life was ebbing away ; 
 the last sand was dropping from the glass. Closer the 
 5*
 
 106 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 fair curly head nestled to its strange pillow, the bleed 
 ing bosom of a foe, and the lips murmured incoherent 
 ly of the elm-trees growing near the mountain home, and 
 the mother watching daily for tidings of her boy. Then 
 the train of thought was changed, and Charlie heard the 
 bett, just as it pealed that morning from his own village 
 spire. How grand the music was echoing through the 
 Virginia woods, and the blue eyes closed, as with a 
 whisper he asked: 
 
 "Don't you hear the old bell at home, calling the 
 folks to church ? It has stopped now, and the children 
 are singing before the organ, ' Glory to God on high.' I 
 used to sing it with them. Do you know it, ' Gloria in 
 excelsis ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes !" the soldier eagerly replied, glad to find 
 they were both of the same faith, that little Yankee 
 boy, born among the granite hills, and he a North Car 
 olinian, born on Southern soil. 
 
 " Then sing it," Charlie whispered ; " sing it, won't 
 you ? Maybe I'll go to sleep. I don't ache any now." 
 
 "With a mighty effort the soldier forced down his bit 
 ter grief, and in a low, mournful tone, commenced our 
 beautiful church chant, the dying child for whom he 
 sang, faintly joining with him for a time, but the sweet 
 voice ceased ere long, the curly head pressed heavier, the 
 bleeding stumps lay motionless, and when the chant was 
 ended, Charlie had gone to his last sleep. 
 
 Carefully, reverently, the North Carolinian laid the 
 little form upon the grass, and kissed the stiffened lips 
 for the sake of the mother, who might never know just 
 how Charlie died. 
 
 Just then footsteps sounded near. Tom and Isaac 
 were coming, and the face of the soldier darkened when 
 he saw them, as if they had been intruders upon him and
 
 THE BETKEAT. 107 
 
 his beautiful dead. Their appearance, however, disarmed 
 him at once, and with a faint smile he pointed to his 
 companion, and said : 
 
 "He was in the Federal army two hours ago; he has 
 joined God's army now. Poor Charlie! I would have 
 done much to save him !" and with his hand he smoothed 
 the golden hair, on which the flecks of western sunshine 
 lay. 
 
 Isaac knew it was a Rebel speaking to him, and for an 
 instant he experienced the same sensation he had felt in 
 the midst of the fray, but only for an instant, for though 
 he knew it was a sworn foe, he knew, too, that 'twas a 
 noble-hearted man, and with a pitying glance at the 
 dead, he asked if aught could be done for the living. 
 
 " No," and the soldier smiled again; "my passport is 
 sealed; I am going after Charlie. Some one of your men 
 did his work well see !" and opening his coat, he dis 
 closed the frightful wound from which the dark blood 
 was gushing. 
 
 Then, in a few words he had told them Charlie's story, 
 adding in conclusion, 
 
 "You will escape; you will go home again: and if you 
 do, write to Charlie's mother, and tell her how he died. 
 Tell her not to weep for him so early saved. Her letter 
 is in his pocket: take it as a guide where to direct your 
 own." 
 
 This he said to Isaac, for he saw Tom was disabled. 
 Isaac did as he was bidden, and the letter from Charlie's 
 mother, written but a week before, was safely put away 
 for future reference, and then Isaac did for the North 
 Carolina soldier what the North Carolina soldier had done 
 for the Yankee boy : he staunched the flowing blood as best 
 he could, bathed the throbbing head, and held the cooh 
 ing water to the dry, parched lips, which feebly murmured 
 their thanks.
 
 108 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 The stranger saw the distinction there was between 
 his new-found friends, and feeling that Tom was the one 
 to whom he must appeal, he turned his glazed eyes upon 
 him, and said: 
 
 " Whose government will answer for all this, yours 01 
 the one that I acknowledge ?" 
 
 "Both, both!" Tom replied vehemently; and the 
 stranger rejoined: 
 
 "Yes, both have much to answer for, one for not 
 yielding a little more, and the other for its rash impetu 
 osity. Oh, had we, as a people, know each other; could 
 we have guessed what brave, kind hearts there were both 
 North and South, we should never have come to this; 
 but we believed our leaders too much; trusted too impli 
 citly in the dastardly falsehoods of a lying press; and it 
 has brought us here. For myself I am willing to die in 
 a good cause; and of course I think ours is just; exactly 
 as you think of yours; but who will care for my poor 
 Nellie I left in my Southern home ? What splendid vic 
 tory can repay her for the husband she will lose ere yon 
 der sun has set, or what can compensate my daughter 
 Maude or my boy Charlie for their loss ? 
 
 The North Carolinian paused from exhaustion, and 
 Tom essayed to comfort him. 
 
 Bending over him, and supporting the drooping head 
 which dropped lower and lower, the lips whispering of 
 Nelly, of Maud and Charlie, and of the Tar Eiver wind 
 ing past their door, until there seemed no longer life in 
 that once vigorous frame. 
 
 \ " He's dead," Isaac was about to say, but the words 
 froze on his lips, for in the distance he caught sight of 
 two other men coming towards them,- one strong and 
 powerful, the other slight and girlish-looking. Tom saw 
 them, too, and turning to Isaac, said hurriedly,
 
 THE RETREAT. 109 
 
 "Bun, my boy, and leave me. They will think far 
 more of capturing an officer than a private. You can es 
 cape as -well as not, run, quick." 
 
 But Isaac would share Capt. Carleton's fate, whatever 
 that might be, and with a deep flush on his boyish face, 
 he drew nearer to his companion and stood gazing defi 
 antly at the Rebels as they came up. 
 
 "We have nothing to hope," Tom whispered, "but 
 we'll sell ourselves dearly as possible," and bracing him 
 self against the tree, he prepared to do battle, refusing 
 at once the bullying Rebel's command, 
 
 " Surrender or die." 
 
 "Never!" was the firm response, and while Isaac en 
 gaged hand to hand with the smaller of the two, Tom 
 parried skillfully each thrust of his antagonist, who ac 
 cused him of having murdered the North Carolina offi 
 cer lying near. 
 
 Both Tom and Isaac had thought the stranger dead, 
 but at this accusation the white lips quivered, and whis 
 pered faintly, " No, no, they were kind to me, the officer 
 and the boy." 
 
 For an instant the Rebel's uplifted hand was stayed, 
 and it is difficult to say what the result might have been 
 had not another voice called through the leafy woods, 
 " No quarter to the Yankee !" 
 
 Tom's cheek blanched to an unnatural whiteness, as 
 with partial lips and flashing eyes he watched the new 
 comer hastening to the rescue, the handsome, graceful 
 stranger, whose appearance riveted Isaac's attention at 
 once, causing him to gaze spell-bound upon the face of 
 the advancing foe, as if it were one he had seen before. 
 How handsome that young man was, with his saucy, 
 laughing eyes of black, his soft, silken curls of hair, and 
 that, air of self-assurance, which bespoke a daring, reck-
 
 110 HOSE* MATHER. 
 
 less spirit. Isaac could not remove his eyes from the 
 young Rebel, and his late antagonist met with no resist 
 ance, as he passed his arms around him and held him 
 prisoner at last. Isaac did not even think of himself; 
 his thoughts were all upon the stranger, at whom poor 
 Tom sat gazing, half bewildered, and trying once to 
 stretch his arms toward him, while the lips essayed to 
 speak. But the words he would have uttered died away 
 as a sudden faintness stole over him, when he saw that 
 he was recognized. There was a violent start, a fading 
 out of the bright color on the Rebel's cheek, and Isaac, 
 still watching him, heard him exclaim, " No, no, not him, 
 leave him alone," while at the same time he attempted 
 to free Tom from the firm grasp the enemy now had 
 upon him. 
 
 With an oath the soldier shook him off, then rudely 
 bade his half-senseless victim rise and follow as a pris 
 oner of war. And Tom, unmindful of the pain, arose 
 without a word, and leaning heavily upon his captor, 
 hobbled on, caring little now, it would seem, what fate 
 was in reserve for him. He seemed benumbed, and only 
 an occasional groan, which Isaac fancied was wrung out 
 by pain, told that he was conscious of anything. 
 
 " He's lame," Isaac cried, the hot tears raining over 
 his face, while he begged of them to stop, or at least to 
 carry poor Capt. Carleton, if they must go on. " I won't 
 run away," he said, imploringly to his own captor, feel 
 ing intuitively that his was the kinder nature. "Don't 
 be afraid of me. I'll help you carry him if necessary. 
 Do have some pity. He's fainting, see!" and Isaac al 
 most shrieked as poor Tom sunk upon the grass, utterly 
 unable to move another step. They must carry him now 
 or leave him there, and anxious for the honor a captured 
 officer of Tom Carleton's evident rank in life would co n-
 
 THE RETREAT. Ill 
 
 fer upon them, the Rebels availed themselves of Isaac's 
 proffered aid, and the three, bearing their heavy burden, 
 moved slowly on until far beyond the bushes by the 
 stream, where the other soldier sat upon the ground, his 
 laughing black eyes heavy with tears, and his heart 
 throbbing with a keener pain than he had ever known be 
 fore. < 
 " I was wrong to let him go," he said aloud. " Three 
 against two would surely have carried the day, and that 
 boy at his side was brave, I know. But it cannot now be 
 helped. He is their prisoner, and all that remains for 
 me to do is to see that the best of treatment comes to him 
 until he is released. But what! are the dead coming 
 back to life ?" and the soldier started up as he caught a 
 sound of bending twigs near by. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE EEBEL AND THE YANKEE. 
 
 ILL BAKER was awake at last, and from his hid 
 ing place had seen Capt. Carleton and Isaac dis- 
 ^j&J appear beneath the trees in the distance. 
 
 "Th e y are goners," he muttered to himself, "Won't 
 that snap dragon of a widow be mad, though, when she 
 hears how they've got Ike. Poor Ike, I'd help him if I 
 could, but 'taint no use interferin' now," and with this 
 reflection, Bill turned his attention toward the stranger, 
 watching him for several minutes, first to decide hia 
 politics, and second, to calculate his probable strength. 
 The soldier was at least a head taller than Bill, who nev-
 
 112 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 ertheless far exceeded him in strength of muscle and pow 
 er of endurance. 
 
 " I can manage, him," was Bill's contemptuous comment, 
 and feeling in his pocket for the strong cord Rose MatJier 
 had bound round his paper parcel of turnovers and 
 cheese, he prepared to spring upon his foe in the rear 
 and take him by surprise. 
 
 The cracking twigs betrayed him, and changing his 
 tactics he walked directly in front of the astonished young 
 man, who, with heightened color, haughtily demanded 
 " what he was doing there, and whether he were a friend 
 or foe." 
 
 " "What am I doin' here ?" Bill repeated, sticking his 
 cap a little more to one side, and half shutting one of his 
 wicked grey eyes, ' ' Kinder peekin' round to see what I 
 can find. Be I friend or foe ? You must be green to ask 
 that. Don't you re-cog-nize my regimentals, made after 
 the cut of Uncle Sam, sited some, to be sure, but then 
 I've been at a dirty job, been lickin' jest such scamps as 
 you. Now, then, corporal, seein' I answered you civil, 
 what are you doin' here ? You won't answer me, hey ?" 
 he continued, as the stranger deigned him no other reply 
 than a look of ineffable disdain. " Wall, then, if you're 
 so 'fraid of your tongue, s'posin' we try a rastle, rough 
 and tumble, you know ; and the one that gits beat is 
 t'other's prisoner. That's fair, as these dead folks will 
 witness ;" and Bill's glance for the first time fell upon the 
 bodies lying near them, upon Charlie's childish face, 
 with the golden curls clustering around it. 
 
 The sight touched a tender chord in Bill, and forget 
 ting for a moment his new acquaintance, he bent over 
 the drummer boy, murmuring, 
 
 " Poor child, ycur folks or'to have been ashamed to let 
 you come to war."
 
 THE REBEL AND THE YANKEE. 113 
 
 Now was the Eebel's time. He felt intuitively that he 
 was no match for the thick-set, brawny Bill, Safety lay 
 alone in flight, and with a sudden "bound he fled like a 
 deer. 
 
 " Nuff said," dropped from Bill's lips, and the next in 
 stant he, too, was flying through the woods in pursuit of 
 the foe. 
 
 It proved an unequal race, and Bill's strong arms ere 
 long closed like a vice around the struggling soldier, who 
 resisted manfully, until resistance was vain, and then 
 sullenly stood still, while Bill fastened his hands behind 
 him, with the cords unwittingly furnished by Rose Ma 
 ther! 
 
 " Don't squirm so, corporal," Bill said, as he bound the 
 knots securely, with his knee upon the back of the stran 
 ger, whom he had thrown upon his face. "Don't squirm 
 so like an eel and I'll be done the quicker. I calkerlate 
 to tie you so you can't git away, and you may as well 
 hold on. Got kinder delicate hands, haint you ? Never 
 done nothin', I guess, but lick niggers and shute your 
 betters. There, you may stan' up now if you want tew." 
 
 The young man struggled to his feet, saying, proudly : 
 
 " What do you intend doing next, sir ?" 
 
 " What do I intend doin' ?" Bill replied, with imper 
 turbable gravity. " I intend leadin' you by this string 
 inter camp, and showin' you up for to'pence a sight. 
 What d'ye s'pose I intended doin' ?" 
 
 The young man made one more desperate struggle to 
 free himself, but the twine only cut into his flesh, making 
 the matter worse, so he finally submitted to his fate, and 
 suffered Bill to take him where he listed. Bill was in no 
 hurry to get to camp. He rather enjoyed being alone 
 with his prisoner, and leading him to a little thicket he 
 made him sit down, and placing one of his feet upon him 
 he began to ask him innumerable questions, what was
 
 114 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 his name, where did he come from, what company was he 
 in, and so on, to none of which did the stranger vouch 
 safe a reply. 
 
 With a haughty look upon his handsome face, he 
 maintained a rigid silence, while Bill continued : 
 
 "Needn't talk unless you want to. Speech is free with 
 us, you know; but seein' you won't tell who you be, 
 maybe you wouldn't mind hearing my geneology. It'll 
 make you feel better, mabby, to knew my reputation and 
 standin' in society. Corporal, did you ever hear of a 
 Yankee, a real live mudsill Yankee, such as Southern 
 gentlemen feel above fightin' with ? Wall, I'm that crit 
 ter. What do you think of me, take me as a hull ?" 
 
 The stranger groaned in disgust, and Bill continued : 
 
 "Them cords hurt you, I guess. Like enough I'll 
 ease 'em up a trifle, if you say so. I ain't hard-hearted, if 
 I be rough as a nutmeg-grater. Shall I loosen 'em so's 
 not to hurt them soft, baby hands of yourn ?" 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I don't mind it in the least," was 
 the soldier's answer, though all the while the coarse 
 twine was cutting cruelly into the tender flesh. 
 
 This Bill suspected, and muttering to himself: 
 
 " Good grit, if he is a Rebel," he went on: " Consider 
 able top-lofty, ain't you, corporal? And as chaps of 
 your cloth like to meet with their equals, I'll go on with 
 my history. I was born in Massachusetts, not over a 
 day's ride from Boston. Ever been to Boston ?" 
 
 No answer from, the stranger, save a heightened color, 
 and Bill proceeded: 
 
 " Tall old town. Got a smashin' monument out to 
 Chaiiestown. Heard on't I s'pose, as I take it some of 
 you Southern dogs can read. Wall, father died in State's 
 Prison down there to Charlestown, and then we moved 
 to Hockland, the old woman, Hal and me. Hal's lyin* 
 up there where the hottest of the fight took place, and
 
 THE EEBEL AND THE YANKEE. 115 
 
 I'm here tormentin' you by tellin' you my character. 
 I've been to the work-house twice, I have, I swan, once 
 for gefctin' drunk, and once for somethin' else a good deal 
 wus. How do you feel now ?" and Bill leered wickedly 
 at the young man, who seemed bent on keeping silence. 
 
 Only the expression of his face told the extreme con 
 tempt he felt for his companion, and how it did wound 
 to the quick one of his nature to be held a prisoner by 
 such as William Baker. But there was no help for it ; 
 he must submit to be taken to Washington by the 
 despised Bill, and then, oh, how his heart sank within 
 him as he thought, what then? Was there no method 
 of escape ? Couldn't he get away, or better yet, couldn't 
 he hire Bill to let him go ? Strange he had not thought 
 of this before. Yankees were proverbially avaricious, 
 and almost every man had his price. He could try, at 
 all events, and unbending his dignity, he inquired what 
 Bill would ask to let him go ? 
 
 "What'll I ask?" repeated Bill, placing both feet 
 instead of one upon his prisoner. " I dun know. Le'ss 
 dicker a spell and see. What'll you give, and where 
 do you keep your traps ?" 
 
 "In my pockets," the unsuspecting soldier answered ; 
 " there's my watch and chain, worth over three hundred 
 dollars." 
 
 " Whew-ew !" whistled Bill, his face lighting up in 
 stantly, while hope crept into the stranger's heart. " A 
 gold watch worth over three hundred! Let's see the 
 critter." 
 
 "You forget that my hands are tied," the stranger 
 suggested. 
 
 " So they be, but mine ain't," and the next moment 
 Bill was holding to his ear an elegant Parisian watch, 
 and asking if the stranger were positive sure it cost 
 more'n three hundred dollars. "I had an old pewter
 
 116 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 thing that I gin to mother," he said, "and this concern jest 
 conies in play. It's mine, you say, if I'll let you cut 
 stick and run ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; I give you that in exchange for my liberty." 
 
 " Wall, now, kind a generous, ain't you ? But I want 
 you should fling in something to clinch the bargain. A 
 chap of your cloth is of more valley than three hundred. 
 What else have you got, corporal ?" and laying the watch 
 carefully upon the grass, Bill's hand a second time sought 
 the stranger's pocket, bringing out an expensive and 
 exquisitely wrought quizzing-glass. 
 
 "Wall, now, if these ain't the curisest spetacles!" he 
 exclaimed. " I'll jest see how a Reb looks through 'em," 
 and adjusting them to his eyes, Bill walked demurely 
 around his prisoner, and then standing at a little dis 
 tance inspected him minutely, as if he had been some 
 curious monster. "Hanged if I can see in 'em, but 
 mabby they'll suit the old woman to hum," he said, 
 placing the glass beside the watch, and adding: " Watch 
 and spetacles ain't enough, Corporal. What more have 
 you got? Ain't there a ring on one of your hands ?" 
 
 " Yes, a costly diamond," was the faint response, and 
 Bill ere long was trying in vain to push it over his 
 large joints. 
 
 " It don't fit me, but I guess 'twill my gal, when I git 
 one," he said, laying that, too, with the watch and eye 
 glass. 
 
 A silver tobacco-box and handsome cigar-case followed 
 next, the stranger groaning mentally, as a faint suspicion 
 of Bill's real intentions crossed his mind. There re 
 mained now but one more article, the dearest of all the 
 young Eebel possessed, and the perspiration started from 
 every pore as he felt the rough hand again within his 
 pockets, and knew he could not prevent it.
 
 THE BEEEL AND THE YANKEE. 117 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no, not that ! Spare me that. Do not 
 open it, please!" and the haughty tone was changed to 
 one of earnest supplication, as Bill drew forth a small 
 daguerrean case, and placed his dirty thumb upon the 
 spring. 
 
 Something in the stranger's voice made him pause a 
 moment, but anything like delicacy of feeling was un 
 known to the rough Bill, and the next instant he was 
 feasting his rude gaze upon the features which the Rebel 
 youth had guarded almost religiously, even from his 
 equals in camp. How beautiful that girlish face was, 
 with its bright laughing eyes, and soft chestnut curls 
 falling in such profusion around the childish brow, and 
 upon the smooth, white neck. Even Bill was awed into 
 silence, while a feeling of bewilderment crept over him 
 as if he had seen that face before, and mingled with this 
 feeling came remembrances of that last day at home, 
 when fair hands, which, ere he was a soldier, would have 
 scorned to touch such as he, had waved him an adieu. 
 
 "Whew-ew!" he whistled, at last. "Ain't she pretty, 
 though ? Your sweet-heart, I guess," and he leered at 
 the stranger, who made him no reply; only the lips 
 quivered, and in the dark eyes there was a gathering 
 moisture; but when Bill "asked, "May I have this, too, if 
 I'll let you go ?" the stranger answered, promptly : 
 
 "Never! I'll die a thousand deaths before I'll part 
 with that! Liberty is not worth that price. Give me 
 back the picture, and I'U go with you willingly where- 
 ever you please. Do give it back," he added, in an 
 agony of fear, as Bill continued gazing at it, and making 
 his remarks. 
 
 ''Can't a feller look at a gal on glass if he wants to ? I 
 wouldn't hurt the little critter if I could as well as not.
 
 118 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 So you won't give her to me, nor tell me who 'tis, 
 neither ?" 
 
 " Stranger," said the Eebel, " have you any feelings of 
 refinement ?" 
 
 " Nary feelin'," and Bill shook his head, but did not 
 withdraw his eyes from the picture. 
 
 " Well, then, have you a wife ?" 
 
 " Nary wife. Nobody would have Bill Baker." 
 
 "Nor sister?" 
 
 " Nary sister but a dead one that I never seen." 
 
 " Nor mother ? You surely have a mother," and the 
 soldier's voice shook with strong emotion. 
 
 " You've got me there," and Bill's eyes turned upon 
 his prisoner. " I have a mother, and you ought to hear 
 the old gal take on when she comes home from washin' 
 from Miss Martherses or some of the big bugs and finds 
 Hal dead drunk on the trundle-bed, and me not a great 
 sight better. Handsome old gal, one of the kind that 
 don't wear hoops, but every time she steps takes her 
 gownd up on her heels, you know." 
 
 The Rebel groaned aloud. There was no tender point 
 upon which his captor could be touched, and the tears 
 rained over his handsome face as he begged of Bill to 
 give him at least the ambrotype. 
 
 " It's the only thing which has prevented me from be 
 ing a perfect villain," he said. "It has kept me from 
 the wine cup, and from the gambler's den." 
 
 " Pity it hadn't kept you out of the Southern army," 
 was Bill's dry response, and the stranger answered, 
 eagerly: 
 
 " I wish it had, I wish it had ! Please give it back, 
 and I'll swear allegiance to the veriest minion in Lin 
 coln's train." 
 
 " I never thought no great of a turncoat," Bill replied,
 
 THE EEBEL AMD THE YANKEE. 119 
 
 closing the case, and still holding it in his hand. "If 
 you're a Southern dog, stay so, not go to barkin' on both 
 sides. We don't want no traitors. Honest, though, 
 corporal, where was you born ? There's a kind of nate- 
 ral look in your face, as if I'd seen it afore," and Bill laid 
 the ambrotype upon the grass. 
 
 But with regard to his birth-place, the stranger was 
 non-committal; and Bill continued : 
 
 "If I let you go, you'll give me the watch?" 
 
 "Willingly, willingly." 
 
 "And the spetacles ?" 
 
 " Yes, oh yes." 
 
 " And the glass bead ring ?" 
 
 " Tes, everything but the picture." 
 
 "Don't be so fast," Bill rejoined. "Ill get to that 
 bimeby. Watch, spetacles, glass bead ring, tobarker- 
 box, and this other thingumbob, but not the picter, if I'll 
 let you go ? And you'll go with me to Washington, and 
 be showed up like a caravan if I'll give up the picter ? 
 Them's the terms as I understand." 
 
 " Yes," the stranger gasped, a shadow of hope stealing 
 into his heart. 
 
 Alas, how soon it was erased by Bill's continuing : 
 
 " Yankees ain't generally very green. We can make 
 you Southern bloods buy wooden cowcumber-seeds any 
 time of day, and do you s'pose I'm goin' to let you off 
 at any price ? No SIR ! If you go to war, you must take 
 the chances of war. I ain't a-goin' to hurt you, and 
 I'll ease up them strings if you say so, but, corporal, 
 you're my prisoner; and these traps," laying his hand 
 upon the various articles upon the grass, " these traps, 
 picter and all, I con-fis-caie as con-tra-band I How do 
 you feel now ?" and Bill coolly pocketed his contrabands, 
 all save the watch, which he adjusted about his neck.
 
 120 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 There was a fierce storm of tears, and sobs, and wild 
 entreaties, and then the poor discouraged soldier was 
 still, his white face wearing again its look of cold, 
 haughty reserve, and his whole manner indicative of the 
 aversion he felt for the vulgar Bill, upon whom the feel 
 ing was entirely lost, for though Bill knew the proud 
 Southerner felt above him, he could not appreciate the 
 feelings which made the young man shrink from him as 
 from a loathsome reptile. Bill had no intention of treat 
 ing him cruelly, and as by this time the night shadows 
 were creeping into the woods, he sought out a dryer and 
 more sheltered spot, and bade his prisoner sleep while 
 he sat by and watched. It seemed preposterous that 
 the stranger should sleep under so great excitement, but 
 human nature could endure no longer without rest, and 
 when at last the stars came out, they shone down upon 
 that tired soldier, sleeping upon the grass, with Bill sit 
 ting near, and watching as he slept. There were visions 
 of home, and of the battle, too, it would seem, mingled 
 in the young man's dreams, for he talked sometimes 
 with his mother, asking her to forgive her boy, and take 
 him back again to her love ; then he was pleading for 
 another, a captive it would seem, asking that nought 
 but the best of care should come to the wounded officer; 
 and then the picture flitted across his mind, for he held 
 converse with the original, and Bill, listening to him, 
 muttered : 
 
 "'Twas his gal, or sister, sure; I'm sorry for him, I 
 vum, but hanged if I'll give it up. It's contraband accor 
 ding to war. He needn't of jined the army." 
 
 And so the weary night wore on, the deep stillness of 
 the Virginia woods broken occasionally by the shouts of 
 riders as they passed by, in search of whatever there 
 was to find. Once, as the shouts came near, the soldier
 
 NEWS OF THE BATTLE. 121 
 
 started up, but ere the scream for help had passed his 
 lips, Bill's hand was laid firmly upon them, and Bill him 
 self whispered fiercely. 
 
 " One yelp, and I gag you with the handkerchief the 
 old woman took from her pocket and gin me the mornin' 
 I come from home. She takes snuff, too, the old woman 
 does !" 
 
 There was a gesture of disgust, and then the stranger 
 became quiet again, while the shouts died away in the 
 distance and were not heard again that night. The 
 morning broke at last, and just as it was growing light, 
 Bill, aroused by the falling rain from ihe slumber into 
 which he had inadvertently fallen, awoke his prisoner, 
 and led him safely through the pickets of the enemy 
 without encountering a human being. They were a 
 strange looking couple, and when, on the following day, 
 they reached Washington, they attracted far more atten 
 tion than the prisoner desired, for he shrunk nervously 
 from the curious gaze fixed upon him, refusing to answer 
 all questions as to his name or birthplace, and appear 
 ing glad when at last he was relieved from Bill's surveil 
 lance and led to his prison home. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 NEWS OF THE BATTLE AT KOCKLAND. 
 
 BEAT Battle at Manassas! 
 
 Total Bout of the Federal Army ! 
 3,000 killed and as many more taken prisoners ! 
 Fire Zouaves all cut to pieces ! 
 6
 
 122 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 Only three or foxir escape alive ! 
 
 N. Y. 13th completely riddled! !! 
 
 Sherman's Battery, and hosts of guns in the hands of 
 the Rebels ! 
 
 Frightful Panic at Washington ! 
 
 The Capitol in imminent danger ! 
 
 Gen. Scott in convulsions, the President crazy, and 
 Seward threatened with softening of the brain ! 
 
 Women and children fleeing for their lives ! 
 
 Beauregard marching on with 500,000 men ! 
 
 The Baltimoreans in ecstasies, and the Philadelphians 
 in despair ! 
 
 Such were some of the exaggerated reports which ran 
 like lightning through the streets of Bockland on the 
 first arrival of the news, throwing the people into a 
 greater panic than was said to exist in Washington. 
 Hints of some terrible disaster, the exact nature of which 
 could not be known until the arrival of the evening pa 
 pers, had early in the afternoon found their way from 
 the telegraphic station into the village, creating the most 
 intense excitement. Men left their places of business to 
 talk the matter over, while groups of women assembled 
 at the street corners, discussing the probabilities of the 
 case, and each hoping that her child, her husband, her 
 brother had been spared. 
 
 Prominent among these was Widow Simms, holding 
 fast to Susan's hand, and occasionally whispering a word 
 of comfort to the poor child, whose eyes were red with 
 weeping over the possible fate of John. Bose Mather's 
 carriage drove up and down, and from its window Bose 
 herself looked anxiously out, her face indicative of the 
 anxiety she felt to hear the worst, if worst there were. 
 She knew her husband could not have been in battle, for 
 he was still in Washington, but she was conscious of a feel-
 
 NEWS OF THE BATTLE. 123 
 
 ing as if some dire calamity were impending over her, 
 and among the crowd collected in the street there was 
 none who waited more impatiently for the coming of the 
 evening train than she. She had taken Annie Graham 
 to ride with her, and the two presented a most striking 
 contrast, for where Kose was nervous, impatient and ex 
 cited, Annie, though feeling none the less concerned, was 
 quiet, submissive and resigned, exhibiting no outward 
 emotion until the shrill whistle was heard across the 
 plain, when a crimson flush stole into her cheek, deepen 
 ing into a purple as the carriage drew up in front of the 
 office, where the throng was growing denser, men push 
 ing past each other, and elbowing their way to a stand 
 point near the door, where they could catch the first item, 
 of news, and scatter it among the eager crowd. The 
 papers came at last, and the damp sheets were almost 
 torn asunder by the excited multitude. 
 
 " Me one, me, please," and Rose Mather's hand was 
 thrust from the window in time to catch a paper destined 
 for some one farther in the rear, but ere she had found 
 the column sought, she heard from those around her 
 that the worst was realized. 
 
 There had been a battle. Our troops were utterly de 
 feated, and worse than all, disgraced. 
 
 " But the 13th ?" Annie whispered faintly. " Does it 
 speak of the 13th?" 
 
 Rose did not know. Her interest just then was cen 
 tered in the " Massachusetts ," and in her eagerness to 
 
 *' hear from Tom, she forgot for a moment that such a 
 regiment as the N. Y. 13th existed. But there were 
 others who did not forget, and just as the question left 
 Annie's lips, the answer came in the despairing cry which 
 rent the air as some reckless person shouted aloud,
 
 124 ROSE MATHEK. 
 
 " The 13th a total wreck ! Not a man left of Company 
 R." 
 
 " Oh, George," poor Annie cried, and the next moment 
 Rose held the fainting form upon her lap. 
 
 " Drive home, to Mrs. Graham's I mean," she said to 
 Jake, who with some difficulty made his way through' 
 the crowd, but not until the story so cruelly set afloat 
 was contradicted by those who had more coolly read the 
 sad intelligence. 
 
 The news was bad enough, but the Rockland com 
 pany was not mentioned, and its friends had no alterna 
 tive but to wait until the telegraph wires should bring 
 some tidings of the saved. Hose was the first to be re 
 membered. Will did his duty faithfully. 
 
 " A terrible battle," his message ran. " Soldiers are 
 arriving every hour, but Tom has not come yet." 
 
 A telegram for the Widow Simms came next, the 
 mother's quick eye taking in at a glance that only Eli's 
 name and John's were appended to it. Isaac's was not 
 there. Where was he then, oh where ? She asked this 
 question frantically, refusing to read the note lest it 
 should confirm her fears. 
 
 " I'll read it, mother. Let me see," Susan said, wrest 
 ing the paper from her hands, and reading with trem 
 bling tones, 
 
 "Eli and I are safe. Isaac was last seen leading Lieut' Graham 
 from the field." 
 
 Oh what a piteous wail went up to Heaven then, for 
 Widow Simms, when she received the news, was sitting 
 in Annie's door, and Annie was kneeling at her side. 
 George was wounded, of course, and if wounded, dead, 
 else why had he not thought of her ere this ? Locked
 
 NEWS OF THE BATTLE. 125 
 
 in each other's arms the two stricken women wept bit 
 terly, the mother sobbing amid her tears, " My boy, my 
 boy," while Annie moaned sadly, " My George, my hus 
 band." 
 
 Well was it for both that ere that dark hour came they 
 had learned to follow on, even when their Father's foot 
 steps were in the sea, knowing the hand which guided 
 would never lead them wrong. Annie was the first to 
 rally. 
 
 " It might not after all be so bad," she said. "George 
 and Isaac were prisoners, perhaps, but even that was 
 preferable to death. It would surely save them from 
 danger in future battles. The Southerners would not 
 maltreat helpless captives. There were kind people 
 South as well as North." 
 
 Thus Annie reasoned, and the widow felt herself grow 
 stronger as hope whispered of a brighter day to-mor 
 row. 
 
 To Annie it was brighter, for it brought her news of 
 George, wounded in his right arm, an inmate of the hos 
 pital, and at present too weak to write. This was all, 
 but it comforted the young wife. He was not dead. He 
 might come home again, and Annie's heart overflowed 
 with grateful thanksgiving that while so many were be 
 reaved of their loved ones she had been mercifully spared. 
 The next mail brought her a second letter from Mr. Ma 
 ther, more minute in its particulars than any which had 
 preceded it. He had obtained permission to stay with 
 George, had removed him to a private boarding-house, 
 ? far more comfortable than the crowded hospital; and, at 
 his request he wrote to Annie that her husband, though 
 badly wounded and suffering much from the terrible ex 
 citement of the battle, was not thought dangerous, and 
 had strong hopes of ere long receiving his discharge,
 
 126 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 and returning borne where she could nurse him back to 
 life. 
 
 This was Annie's message, read by her eagerly, while 
 the Widow Sinims, forgetting all formality in her anxiety 
 to hear if there was aught concerning her boy, looked 
 over her shoulder, her eye darting from line to line until 
 she caught Ms name. There was something of him, and 
 grasping Annie's arm, she whispered, 
 
 " Bead what it says of Isaac." 
 
 And Annie read how brave Tom Carleton had gener 
 ously given place to the poor wounded George, and staid 
 behind him with Isaac, hoping to make his way to Wash 
 ington in safety. They had not been heard from since, 
 and the widow's heart was sick as heart could be with the 
 dread uncertainty. Anything was preferable to this sus 
 pense, and in a state of mind bordering upon distraction 
 she walked the floor, now wringing her hands and again 
 declaring her intention to start at once for somewhere, 
 she knew not whither, or cared, provided she found her 
 child. 
 
 In the midst of her excitement the gate swung open, 
 and Mrs. Baker rushed up the walk, her sleeves above 
 her elbows, and her hair pushed back from her bonnet 
 less head, just as she had left her washing at a neighbor's 
 when she received Bill's letter, which told of Hal's sad 
 fate, and unravelled the mystery of Tom Carleton's 
 silence. 
 
 "He's took! The Bebels have got your Ike!" she 
 shrieked, brandishing aloft the soiled missive, and howl 
 ing dismally. Then, putting her hand into her bosom, 
 she drew forth the lock of hair, and thrusting it almost in 
 to the widow's face, cried out, " Look, 'tis Harry's hair, 
 all there is left of Harry. That's what I git for havin' a 
 boy two inches taller than Ike, who stood in front, and
 
 NEWS OF THE BATTLE. 127 
 
 would of been shot instead of Harry, only he was shorter. 
 Bead it, Miss Graham," and tossing the letter into An 
 nie's lap, the wretched woman sank upon the door-step, 
 and covering her face with her wet apron, rocked back 
 and forth, while Annie read aloud as follows: 
 
 " WASHINGTON, July 2ith, 1861. 
 
 " DEAB MOTHER: We've met the rascals, and been as genteelly 
 licked as ever a pack of fools could ask to be. How it happened no 
 body knows. I was fitin' like a tiger, when all on a sudden I found 
 us a-runnin' like a flock of sheep ; and what is the queerest of all, is 
 that while we were takin' to our heels one way the Kebels were go- 
 in' it t'other, and for what I know, we should of been runnin' from 
 each other till now if they hadn't found out the game, and so turned 
 upon us. 
 
 "Butwustof all is to come. Halis dead, shot right through 
 the forehead , and the ball that struck him down took off Ike Simmses 
 cap, so if Ike had been only a little taller, Hal would of lived to been 
 hung most likely." 
 
 " Oh, I wish he had, I wish he had !" poor Mrs. 
 Baker moaned, still waving back and forth and kissing 
 the lock of hair, while the widow involuntarily thanked 
 her Heavenly Father that the two inches she once so 
 earnestly coveted for her boy had wisely been with 
 held. 
 
 Then followed Bill's account of cutting away the hair 
 he inclosed, of his flight into the woods, his sleep by the 
 brook, and his waking just in time to see Capt. Carleton 
 and Isaac Sirnms disappear beneath the trees, in charge 
 of rebel soldiers. 
 
 Now that she knew the worst the widow sat like one 
 stunned by a heavy blow, uttering no sound, as Annie 
 read Bill's account of capturing his prisoner. Ere she 
 reached this point, however, she had another auditor, 
 Hose Mather, who had come with a second letter from 
 her husband, and who, passing the weeping woman in the
 
 128 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 door, came and stood by Annie, and listened with strange 
 interest to the story of that captive parting so willingly 
 with everything save the picture. 
 
 " Poor young man !" she sighed, when Annie finished 
 reading. " I don't suppose it's right, but I do feel sorry 
 for him. What if it had been Jimmie ? Perhaps he has 
 a sister somewhere weeping for him just as I cried for 
 Tom. Dear Tom, Will writes he is a prisoner with Isaac 
 Simms. I'm glad they are together. Tom will take care 
 of Isaac. He had a quantity of gold tied around his 
 waist," and Hose's soft hand smoothed caressingly the 
 widow's thin, light hair. 
 
 The widow had not wept before, but at the touch of 
 those little fingers the flood gates opened wide, and her 
 tears fell in torrents. They were bound together now by 
 a common bond of sympathy, those four women, each so 
 unlike to the other, and for a time they wept in silence, 
 one for her wounded husband, one for a child deceased, 
 one for a captured brother, the other for a son. 
 
 Now, as ever, Annie was the first to speak of hope, and 
 her words were fraught with comfort to all save Harry's 
 mother. She could not comfort her, for from reckless, 
 misguided Harry's grave, there came no ray of consola 
 tion, but to the others she spoke of One who would not 
 desert the weary captives. Neither bolt nor bar could 
 shut Him out. God was in Richmond as well as there at 
 home, and none could tell what good might spring from 
 this seeming great evil. For a long time they talked to 
 gether, and the afternoon was half spent when at last they 
 - separated, Rose going back to her luxurious home where 
 she wrote to her mother the sad news concerning Tom, 
 blurring with great tears the line in which she spoke of 
 Jimmie, wondering what his fate had been. 
 
 Slowly, disconsolately poor Mrs. Baker returned to her
 
 NEWS OF THE BATTLE. 129 
 
 day's work so long neglected, but the suds she left so hot 
 two hours before had grown cold, the fire burned out, 
 and with that weary, discouraged feeling which poverty 
 alone can prompt, she was setting herself to the task of 
 bringing matters up again, when her employer, touched 
 with the sight of the white, anguished face, kindly bade 
 her leave the work until another day, and seek the quiet 
 she so much needed. Poor old woman ! How desolate 
 it was going back to the squalid house where everything, 
 even to the bootjack he had once hurled at her head, re 
 minded her of the Harry who would come back no more ! 
 She did not think of his unkindness now. That was all 
 forgotten, and motherlike, she remembered only the times 
 when he was good and treated her like something half 
 way human. He was her boy, her first born, and as she 
 lay with her tear-stained face buried in the scanty pil 
 lows of her humble bed, she recalled to mind the time 
 when first he lisped the sweet word mother, and twined 
 his baby arms about her neck. 
 
 He was a bright, pretty child, easily influenced for good 
 or evil, and the rude mother shuddered as she felt creeping 
 over her the conviction that she had helped to make him 
 what he grew to be, laughing at his fierce temper and at 
 times provoking him on purpose, just to see him bump 
 his little round, hard head against the oaken floor. 
 Then, as he grew older, it was fun to hear him imitate the 
 oaths his father used, and she had laughed at that until 
 the habit became so firmly fixed that neither threats nor 
 punishment could break it. And when the Sabbath bells 
 were pealing forth their summons to the house of prayer, 
 she had suffered him to stay away, offering but slight re 
 monstrance when the robin's nest just without the door 
 was pilfered of its unfledged occupants, the mother -bird 
 moaning over its murdered young, just as she was moan- 
 6*
 
 130 EOSE MATHEB. 
 
 ing now over her ruined boy. Poor Harry ! There was 
 some excuse for him, some apology found in the nature 
 of his early training, but for her who reared him, none. 
 She might have taught him better. She might have sent 
 him to the Sunday school across the way, where Sunday 
 after Sunday she had heard the hymns the children sang 
 swelling on the Sabbath air, Harry sometimes joining in as 
 he sat in the cottage door, adjusting the bait with which to 
 tempt the unsuspecting fish playing in the brook nearby. 
 A mother's fearful responsibility had been hers. She had 
 not fulfilled it, and it rolled back upon her now, stinging 
 as only remorse can sting, and making her wish amid her 
 pain that the boy, once so earnestly desired, had never 
 been given her, or else had died in its cradle bed, and so 
 gone where she knew the hardened in sin never could find 
 entrance. 
 
 So absorbed was she in her grief as not to hear the 
 sound of wheels stopping near her gate, nor the tripping 
 footstep upon the floor. Rose Mather, restless at home 
 and wishing for something to do, had remembered the 
 miserable woman, and knowing how desolate her com 
 fortless house must seem that summer night, she had 
 conquered her aversion to the place and come to speak, 
 if possible, a word of cheer. Mrs. Baker's howls always 
 had the effect of making her laugh, they seemed so 
 forced, so unnatural; but there was something so new, so 
 real in the stillness of that figure crouching upon the bed, 
 that Rose for a moment was uncertain how to act. It 
 was no feigned sorrow of which she was a witness now, 
 and advancing at last towards the untidy bed, she laid 
 her hand upon the disordered, uncombed hair, and whis 
 pered soothingly, "I am so sorry for you, Mrs. Baker, 
 and I'll doall I can to help you. Ill give you money to 
 make your cottage pleasanter, and by and by you won't 
 feel so badly, maybe."
 
 NEWS FKOH THE WAR. 131 
 
 This was Eose's idea of comfort. Money^^in her esti 
 mation, was to the poor a panacea for nearly every evil, 
 but all her wealth could not avail to quiet the feeling of 
 remorse from which Mrs. Baker was suffering. With a sob 
 she thanked the kind-hearted Eose, and then continued, 
 " 'Tain't the poverty so much, nor the knowin' that 
 he's dead, though that is bad enough. It's the something * 
 that tells me I or'to have brung him up better. I never 
 sent him to meetin', never went myself, never had him 
 baptized, though I did try once to learn him ' Now I lay 
 me ' but he, that's my man, laughed me out of it. He 
 said there wasn't any God, that we all come by chance, 
 but I knew better. / had a prayin' mother, and though 
 I forgot what she learnt me, it 'pears to come back to me 
 now. Oh, Harry, I wish I'd done different, I do, I do," 
 and the repentant woman buried her face again in the 
 scanty pillows, while Eose looked pityingly on. 
 
 Here was a case she could not reach. Money would 
 not cure that aching heart, or quiet that guilty con 
 science. "Mrs. Graham would know exactly what to 
 say," Eose thought, wishing more and more that she, too, 
 possessed the wisdom which would have told her what it 
 was poor Mrs. Baker needed. Sitting down beside her, 
 Eose talked to her of Bill, who, her husband said, was 
 highly complimented for having captured a rebel. Will 
 had not seen the prisoner, she said, or heard his name ; he 
 only knew the fact, and that Bill was greatly praised. This 
 was some consolation to Mrs. Baker, but it did not take 
 the pain away, and as she was not inclined to converse, 
 Eose soon bade her good bye and left her there alone in 
 her deep sorrow.^ 
 
 The following Sunday, just as the notes of the organ 
 were dying away in the opening service, a bent, shrink 
 ing figure stole noiselessly in at the open door, and Eose
 
 132 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 Mather recognized beneath the thin black veil, the hag 
 gard face of Widow Baker, who, except on funeral occa 
 sions, had never before been seen within the walls of the 
 church. Annie saw her, too, and while Rose, touched 
 with the humble attempt she had made to put on some 
 thing like mourning for her child, thought how she 
 would give her an entire new suit of black, Annie thought 
 how she would daily pray that the blow which had fallen 
 so crushingly might result in everlasting good to the now 
 stricken mother. 
 
 Scarcely less keen, but of a far different nature, was the 
 grief of Widow Simms. There was no black upon her 
 leghorn bonnet. She would not have worn it if Isaac had 
 been dead, but every expression of her stern face told 
 how constantly her heart was going out after her dar 
 ling boy, her captured Isaac languishing in his sultry 
 prison, sick perhaps, and pining for his mother. How 
 savage she felt toward Beauregard and all his clan, re 
 solving at times to start herself for Richmond, and beard 
 the lion in his den. 
 
 " She'd tell them what was what," she said. " She'd 
 let them know what an injured mother could do. She'd 
 turn a second Charlotte Corduroy, if necessary, and free 
 the land from such vile monsters," and she actually 
 sharpened up her shears as a weapon of offence in case 
 the pilgrimage were made ! 
 
 This was the Widow Sirams excited, but the W T idow 
 Simms when calm was a very different woman, praying 
 then for her boy, and even asking forgiveness for the 
 stirrers up of the rebellion. At Annie's request she had 
 at last come to live altogether at the cottage in the Hol 
 low, and it was well for both that they should be together, 
 for the widow's stronger will upheld the weaker Annie,
 
 NEWS OF THE BATTLE. 133 
 
 who, in her turn, imparted much of her own trusting, 
 childish faith to the less trusting widow. 
 
 Greatly Annie mourned as the days went on, because 
 no line came to her from George himself, nothing in his 
 own handwriting, when he knew how she desired it, if it 
 were but just his name. "What made him always depu 
 tize Mr. Mather to write his letters for him ? Annie put 
 this question once to Rose, but the twilight was gathering 
 over them, and so she failed to see the heightened color 
 on Hose's cheek and the moisture in her eye. Eose did 
 not now, as formerly, bring her "William's letters, and 
 read to her every word he said of George. She only 
 told her how cheerfully George bore his illness, and how 
 Will read to him every day from Annie's Bible, choosing 
 always the passages she had marked, but the rest was all 
 withheld and Annie never dreamed the reason, or of the 
 effort it cost the talkative little Rose to keep back what 
 William said she must until the worst were known. 
 
 Thus the August days glided by, one by one, until the 
 summer light faded from the Eockland hills, and Septem 
 ber threw over them her rich autumnal bloom, and then 
 one day there came a note for Annie, written as of old by 
 William Mather, but signed by George himself. Poor An 
 nie, how she cried over and kissed that signature, to which 
 George had added, " God bless you, darling Annie." Every 
 letter was unnaturally distorted, and few could have de 
 ciphered the words ; but to the eye of love they were plain 
 as noonday, and Annie's kisses dropped upon them until 
 they were still more blurred than when they came to 
 her. 
 
 It was very hard for Rose to keep from telling the 
 dreadful story of what had followed the perming of those 
 brief words, " God bless you, darling Annie." But Will 
 had said she must not, so she made no sign, only her arms
 
 134 EOSE MATHER 
 
 cluBg closer around Annie's neck, and her lips lingered 
 longer upon the snowy forehead as she said good night, 
 and went away with the secret which Annie must not 
 know then. 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIEB. 
 
 'OW those polished, cruel-looking instruments 
 sparkled, and glittered, and flashed; and how 
 the sick man shuddered as he glanced toward 
 the table where they lay, asking, with quivering lip, if 
 there were no other alternative save the one their pres 
 ence suggested. 
 
 "None but speedy death!" was the response of the 
 attending surgeon, who was too much accustomed to 
 just such scenes as this, to appreciate the feelings of that 
 poor soldier, shrinking so painfully from what they told 
 him must be if he would live. 
 
 " None but speedy death," George repeated the words 
 slowly to himself, dwelling longest upon the last, as if to 
 accustom himself to thoughts of it. 
 
 " Wait a little, wait till I think the matter over," he 
 said, in reply to the question, "are you ready?" and 
 turning his face to the wall, so that those about him 
 should not see the fearful conflict going on, he thought 
 long and earnestly. Wasn't it better to die than go 
 back to Annie maimed and disfigured for life ? Better 
 die than lose a portion of the manly beauty of which he 
 had been so proud. Would Annie love him just the 
 same, even though the strong right arm, which had toiled
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. 135 
 
 for her so cheerfully, could never work for her again; 
 never encircle her in its embrace ? "Would the scarred 
 stump be as dear to her as the well-moulded limb had 
 been ? He did not know, and the tears, which all through 
 the weary days of his sickness had been kept back, now 
 fell like rain upon the pillow, as he fancied the meeting 
 between his sweet young wife, and her poor, crippled 
 husband. The cottage on the hill so earnestly coveted, 
 would never be theirs now. He could not earn it. He 
 could not earn much any way, with his left arm, and he 
 groaned aloud, as he thought of the poor unfortunate 
 seen so often in the Rochester depot, peddling daily 
 papers. Would he ever come to that ? He, who, but a 
 few months ago had so bright hopes for the future? 
 Would the delicate Annie he had meant to shield so 
 carefully from every ill of life, yet be compelled to earn 
 the bread she ate ? It was a sad, sad picture the excited 
 soldier drew of what the future might bring, and the 
 fainting spirit had almost cjried out, "I would rather 
 die 1" when there came stealing across his mind the 
 memory of Annie's parting words, 
 
 "If the body you bring back has in it my George's 
 heart, I shall love you all the same." 
 
 Yes, she would love him just the same, for, as it was 
 not her fair, sweet face alone which made her so dear to 
 him, so it was not his splendid form which made him 
 dear to her. Annie's love would not abate, even though 
 he went back to her the veriest cripple that ever crawled 
 the earth. But how different his going home would be 
 from what he had fondly hoped. No papers heralding 
 his arrival ; no dense crowd out to meet him; no fife 
 trilling a jubilee; no drum beating a welcome; no bell 
 ringing its merry peal; no carriage, no procession; noth 
 ing but the curious gaze of the few who might come out
 
 136 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 to see how George Graham looked without an arm, and 
 whisper softly to each other, " Poor fellow, how I pity 
 him !" He didn't want to be pitied ; he would almost 
 rather die; and he did not want to die either, when he 
 thought calmly of it. He was not prepared; and forcing 
 back the bitter tears, he turned his white, worn face to 
 William Mather, bending so sadly over him, and whis 
 pered: 
 
 " Tell them they may cut it off, but not till you've 
 written to Annie, and I have signed my name. You 
 know how she has begged for a word from me. Tell 
 them to keep away; they shall not intrude on my inter 
 view with Annie." 
 
 George was growing excited, but he became calm 
 again when he found himself alone with Mr. Mather, 
 who wrote the letter which gave Annie so much joy. 
 There was nothing in it of the expected amputation; 
 nothing but encouragement that he should ere long come 
 home to stay with her always. 
 
 " There, give me the pen," he said, when the letter 
 was finished, and the trembling fingers grasped it eager 
 ly, but quickly let it fall as the purple, festered flesh 
 above the elbow throbbed and quivered with the pain the 
 sudden effort caused. " Once more; I'll do it if it costs 
 my life !" he whispered, nerving himself with might and 
 main, and then, with Mr. Mather guiding his hand, 
 he wrote his name, and the words, "God bless you, 
 darling Annie !" " It's done, and she must never know 
 the agony it cost me," he moaned, as his bandaged ^irm 
 fell heavily at his side, while with his other hand he 
 wiped away the sweat which stood so thickly upon his 
 face. " Bring Annie's Bible," he said, "and lay it on my 
 pillow. It will make me bear it better. Oh, Annie, An 
 nie, if you could be here to pray for me ! Can't you ?"
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIEE. 137 
 
 and the dim eyes turned imploringly toward Mr. Mather, 
 who shook his head hesitatingly. 
 
 Man of the world as he had been, he had not yet 
 learned to pray, but he could not resist that touching 
 appeal, and bending down he answered: 
 
 " I never learned to pray, but while the operation is 
 going on, I'll do the best I can. Shall I call them 
 now ?" 
 
 George nodded, and William admitted the two sur 
 geons, who were growing somewhat impatient at the de 
 lay. They were not naturally hard-hearted men, but 
 years of practice had brought them to look on amputa 
 tions in a mere business point of view. Still there was 
 something about this case which touched a chord of sym 
 pathy, and they spoke kindly to the sufferer, telling him 
 it would soon be over, and was not half so bad as losing 
 a leg would be. George made no reply except to shud 
 der nervously as he saw the cold, polished steel so soon 
 to cut into his flesh. 
 
 "You'll need bandages," he said, his mind flashing 
 backward to the day when he had looked in at Kockland 
 Hall, where Annie, with others, sat working for just such 
 a scene as this. 
 
 " It's here/' Mr. Mather answered, pointing to a table 
 where lay a ball prepared for Company K. 
 
 Without knowing why he did so, Mr. Mather took it 
 up and began mechanically to unroll it, pausing sudden 
 ly as traces of a pencil met his view. There was some 
 thing written there, something which made him start as 
 he read, "Annie Howard. It's your Annie, George. 
 Try to think I'm there. Rockland, April, 1861." 
 
 Was it a happen so, or a special providence that this 
 bit of linen, over which Annie's prayers had been 
 breathed, should come at last to him for whom it was
 
 138 ROSE MATHEK, 
 
 intended ? Mr. Mather believed the latter, and pointed 
 it out to George, who, comprehending the truth at a 
 glance, uttered a wild, glad cry of joy as he pressed it 
 to his lips. 
 
 "Yes, Annie, I know you are here. I can feel your 
 presence, and it will help to ease the pain. Begin with 
 out delay. Don't wait, if it must be done." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, a shutting of both 
 "William's and George's eyes, and a shriek of anguish 
 rang through the room as George cried out, " Oh, Annie, 
 Annie, stand up closer to me, it makes me faint, it hurts 
 me so bad ! Pray, Mr. Mather, pray !" and Mr. Mather 
 did pray, the first prayer which had passed his lips since 
 his early boyhood, not aloud, but silently ; and the 
 writhing victim grew still at last, only shivering once as 
 the sharp saw glided through the splintered bone. Care 
 fully they bound up the bleeding stump with the soft linen 
 Annie had sent, speaking comforting words to the suf 
 ferer, who seemed to be stupefied, for he did not notice 
 what they said. 
 
 It was done at last; and after a few directions the 
 operators hurried off to do for others, what they had 
 done for George. Poor George, how long and weary 
 were the days and nights immediately succeeding the 
 amputation, and how horrible the sensation which 
 prompted him to fancy the severed limb was there ; to 
 feel the hot blood tingling through his finger tips, throb 
 bing through his wrists, streaming into his elbow joints, 
 and then to know 'twas all a mere delusion, for the right 
 arm once so full of vigor, was nought now, save a putri- 
 fying mass buried away beneath the sod. He would not 
 have Annie know it yet, he said. He would rather spare 
 her as long as possible, and so the news was withheld 
 from her, while day after day George waited and watched
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER 139 
 
 for the favorable change which should make it safe for 
 him to undertake the tedious journey. Three times was 
 the travelling-bag packed, with the hope of going to 
 morrow, and as often did the doctor's stern mandate bid 
 him wait a little longer. 
 
 At last the terribly nervous sensation passed away, 
 taking with it all the pain, and leaving no feeling save 
 one of intense uneasiness and languor, which the once 
 strong man strove in vain to shake off, trying day after 
 day to sit up, if only for a moment, and as often falling 
 back upon his pillows from sheer exhaustion. He was 
 only tired; he had never been rested since the battle, he 
 said, and if he could once go home to Annie, and lie upon 
 the lounge, where he last saw her kneeling, he should 
 get well so fast. Often in his troubled sleep he talked of 
 her, begging her not to spurn her poor, crippled hus 
 band, but to love him just the same. 
 
 " I never can work for you as I used to do," he would 
 say, " never can buy that cottage on the hill, but God 
 won't let us starve, and I shall love you so much, so 
 much, when I find you do not shrink away from poor, 
 mutilated George." 
 
 It was a sad, but not unprofitable lesson, which Wil 
 liam Mather was learning by that bedside. At home in 
 Rocklaiid, where their positions were so different, he had 
 always respected George Graham, but he had learned to 
 love him now with a brother's love, and gladly would he 
 have saved him for the sweet wife in whom his own dar 
 ling Rose was so deeply interested, and whose letters 
 were silently working good in him as well as George. 
 Greatly his personal friends marvelled that he should 
 stay so closely immured within that sick-room, when he 
 might, had he chosen, have mingled much in the 
 world without, and many were the attempts they inado
 
 140 EOSE MATHEB. 
 
 to drag him away. But he withstood them all, and clung 
 the doser to his friend, who leaned upon him with all the 
 trustful confidence of a little child. Hour after hour he 
 sat by his patient, reading to him from Annie's well- 
 worn Bible, and when at last the heavy cloud was lifted, 
 and the pathway through the valley of death was divested 
 of its gloom, he was the first to whom the sick man im 
 parted the joyful news, that whether he lived or died, 
 all was well, all was peace within. 
 
 In silence and in tears Mr. Mather listened to the 
 story of what was so strange to him, and in the next 
 letter sent to Bose, he told her of the new resolves 
 awakened within him, tracing them back to that humble 
 cottage in the Hollow, where Annie Graham, unknown, 
 save to a few, was wielding a mighty power for good. 
 Everything which he could do for George he did, and 
 Annie herself could scarcely have been more gentle or 
 kind; and George, oh how grateful he was to his noble 
 friend, blessing him so often for the kindly deeds. 
 
 " God will surely let you go home unharmed," he said 
 one day when Mr. Mather had been more than usu- 
 
 / 
 
 ally attentive. " I pray to Heaven every hour, that 
 you may never know the dreary heart-pang it costs one 
 to die away from home, and all that we hold dear, for I 
 am dying. I have given up the delusion that to-morrow 
 will find me better. I shall never be better until I wake 
 in Heaven, shall never go back to Annie, never see 
 my old home again. It is a humble home, Mr. Mather, 
 but you can't begin to guess how dear it is to me, be 
 cause it is the spot where I brought Annie after she was 
 mine. How well I remember that first night of house 
 keeping; how proud I felt, knowing it was my home, my 
 table, my wife sitting opposite that her own darling 
 hands had made the tea, and cut the bread she passed
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER 141 
 
 me, and that I had earned it, too. The poor have many 
 joys to which the rich are strangers, and I've sometimes 
 thought we love each other more because there is little 
 else to divide our love. True it is that mortal man 
 never loved a creature better than I have loved my 
 Annia. She was of gentler blood than I, was far more 
 delicately reared, and I know it was an unequal match. 
 She was far above me in social position. Highly edu 
 cated and accomplished, too; she was a belle and favor 
 ite everywhere, while I was only George Graham, a 
 mechanic and engineer. She kept nothing from me, and 
 she told me of a childish fancy when she was a mere 
 girl of fourteen, but if she ever sent a regret after the 
 handsome, black-eyed boy, the object of that fancy, it 
 was not perceptible to me. Still, I think that may have 
 had its influence, that, and the fact that her life 
 was very wretched with her proud, hard aunt, on whom 
 she was dependent, and who wanted her to marry a 
 white-haired millionaire. But Annie chose me, and I 
 have worshipped her with an idolatry which I know was 
 sinful in the sight of Heaven, who will have the first 
 place in our hearts. I have told you all this because 
 your wife has been a friend to Annie, and I want her to 
 know that Annie is her equal, if she did marry a poor 
 mechanic. I am not blaming any one. I know the dis 
 tinctions there are in social life. I should feel just so, 
 too, perhaps, if I was rich and had been educated 
 as you were. Even as it is I always was proud to 
 think my wife was a lady-born, and I hoped one day to 
 raise her to the position she ought to fill. But that 
 dream is over now. It matters little what becomes of 
 the body after the soul has left it, though I should rather 
 lie in Itockland graveyard, where Annie can sometimes 
 come to see me, and I do so want to hear her voice once
 
 142 EOSE MATHER 
 
 more before I go, to tell her with my own lips that if 
 in Heaven I find a place, she has led me there." 
 
 " Suppose we send for her," Mr. Mather said, the glad 
 thought flashing upon his mind of the joy it would be to 
 see his own darling once more, for if Annie came, Rose, 
 he knew, was sure to come also. "I'll send for both 
 Annie and Rose at once. They can come on together." 
 
 Mr. Graham made no objection, and Mr. Mather set 
 himself to the task of writing the letter, which he hoped 
 was to bring not only Annie, but his own precious Rose. 
 
 " Don't say a word about my arm. I'd rather tell her 
 myself. She won't mind it so much when she sees how 
 sick and weak I am," George suggested; and so Mr. Ma 
 ther bade Rose keep the amputation to herself as here 
 tofore. 
 
 " You will defray Mrs. Graham's expenses," he wrote, 
 " and come as soon as possible, for her husband is nearer 
 death than you imagine." 
 
 The letter was finished and read aloud to George, who 
 faintly nodded his thanks, and then the message was sent 
 on its way to the North. 
 
 CHAPTER XTL 
 
 GETTING BEADY. 
 
 sA t v/^ 
 
 ^ _ 
 
 H, I've such perfectly splendid news this morning. 
 We are going to Washington right away, you 
 md I, for Will says so in his letter. You see 
 George is a great deal, George can't, well, George isn't 
 very well /" and quite delighted with the happy turn she 
 had given her words, Rose skipped around Annie's cot-
 
 GETTING EEADT. 143 
 
 tage like a bird, lighting at last upon a stool at Annie's 
 feet, and asking if she were not glad. " Why, how white 
 you are !" she, exclaimed, as she observed the paleness of 
 Annie's cheek. " "What makes you ? Don't you want to 
 go?" 
 
 Annie was not deceived by Eose's abrupt turn. She 
 knew that George was worse, else he had never sent for 
 her: and hence the sudden faintness, which Rose's gay 
 badinage could not shake off at once. 
 
 "Did your husband write, or mine?" she asked, and 
 Rose replied, 
 
 "Will, of course. George has never written, you 
 know." 
 
 "Yes, I know;" and in Annie's voice there was a tone 
 approaching nearer to bitterness than any that Rose had 
 ever heard from her. " Where is the letter ? Let me 
 read it for myself." 
 
 But Rose had found it convenient to leave the letter 
 at home, and so she answered, 
 
 " I did not bring it with me. I can tell you all there 
 is in it." 
 
 "But will you?" and Annie grasped her shoulder 
 firmly. " Will you tell me all ? Tell me what it is about 
 my husband, and why he never writes ? Is George dy 
 ing, and is that the reason why he sends for me? Tell 
 me, Mrs. Mather, for I will not be put off longer." 
 
 There was a look in the blue eyes before which Rose 
 fairly quailed, and turning her face away she answered 
 truthfully, 
 
 " Yes, George is very sick. He will never come home 
 again ; and he wants you there when he dies." 
 
 Softly the quivering lips repeated, " When he dies !" 
 poor Annie wondering if it could be George who was 
 meant. Had the evil she most dreaded come upon her
 
 14:4 EOSE MATHER 
 
 at last ? Must she give her husband up and live without 
 him ? How dark, how cheerless the future looked, 
 stretching before her through many years it might be ! 
 Was there no hope, no help ? It was Annie's darkest 
 hour of trial, and for a moment the spirit fainted, refus 
 ing to bear the load which, though more than half-ex 
 pected, had come so sudden at the last. But Annie was 
 not one to murmur long, and Rose Mather never forgot 
 the sweet submissive smile which played over her white 
 face as she said, 
 
 " Whether George lives or dies, God will do all things 
 well." 
 
 After this there was no more repining, no more bitter 
 ness of tone, nothing save humble submission to what 
 ever might be in store for her. 
 
 Rose was very enthusiastic on the subject of the Wash 
 ington trip, and Annie listened eagerly to her sugges 
 tions. 
 
 "It is absurd for two young ladies like us to travel 
 alone," Rose said. " We must have some nice elderly 
 woman to matronize the party. I mean to write to 
 mother to send up one from Boston." 
 
 " Miss Marthers," interrupted the Widow Simms, who 
 sat by the window knitting for some soldier boy, " Miss 
 Marthers, don't be a simpleton, a sendin' down to Bos 
 ton for somebody to marternize you and Miss Graham, 
 when you can find forty of 'em nearer homer " Let me 
 go. Eli and John are there, you know; and 'tain't such 
 a great ways to Richmond, where my poor Isaac is. Did 
 I tell you I got a letter last night from a strange woman 
 up in New Hampshire, whose boy was in the battle? 
 The rascals let your brother write to her, because there 
 was something between her Charlie and a rebel officer
 
 GETTING READY. 145 
 
 who \va s good to the child, when he was dyin'. There's 
 now and then a streak of good amongst 'em." 
 
 "Yes; but what of Tom?" Rose asked eagerly, for 
 getting "Washington in her anxiety to hear from her 
 brother, of whom not one word had been known after 
 his name had appeared in the paper as one of the pris 
 oners at Kichmond, together with that of a boy called 
 "Isaac Simpson." 
 
 The more humane of Captain Carleton's captors had 
 repeated what the dying officer said of Tom's kindness 
 to him, and for this Tom had at last found opportunity 
 for sending a note to Charlie's mother, telling her how her 
 darling died, and asking her to write for him to his 
 mother, his sister and the "Widow Simms. This the 
 grateful woman had done, but Rose had not received her 
 letter yet, and she listened eagerly while the widow read 
 the very words which Tom had written concerning him 
 self and Isaac. There was but little said of suffering or 
 privation. Tom, it would seem, was tolerably well cared 
 for, but he told of days and nights when his heart went 
 out in earnest longings for the loved" ones at home, and 
 then he spoke of Isaac, saying, 
 
 " Tell his mother that he does not bear prison confine 
 ment well, and she would hardly know her boy. He is 
 very popular among his fellow prisoners, and does more 
 good, I verily believe, than half our army chaplains. 
 One poor fellow, who died the other day, blessed Isaac 
 Simms as the means of leading him to Heaven." 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad he's there, ain't you ?" and the tears 
 shone in Hose's eyes as she involuntarily paid this trib 
 ute to Christianity. 
 
 " On some accounts I am, and then again I ain't," was 
 the widow's reply, as she wiped the moisture from her 
 glasses and returned them to her pocket. "I'm glad 
 7
 
 146 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 he's doing good, but I don't want him sick there alone, 
 without his mother. It's hard to see why these things 
 are so, but that's nothin' to do with the goin' to 
 Washington. Will you take me, Mrs. Marthers ? I know 
 I'm homespun and ignorant, but you may call me waitin 
 maid, or anything you like, if you'll only take me." 
 
 The widow's voice was full of entreaty, and Rose 
 could not resist it. It would be grander, she thought, to 
 have a woman from Boston, but then Mrs. Simms wanted 
 to go so badly, while Annie, too, preferred her, she was 
 sure. So it was settled that as soon as the necessary 
 arrangements could be made, Mrs. Simms, Annie and 
 Hose were to start for the Federal Capital. Had the 
 care of an entire regiment devolved upon Rose, she could 
 not have been busier or have felt a greater responsibility 
 than she did in planning ar.d arranging the journey, and 
 between times trying to initiate W T idow Simms into the 
 mysteries of travelling, telling her not to be frightened 
 and think they'd run off the track each time the whistle 
 blew, not to show undue anxiety about her baggage, as 
 she Rose should hold the checks, little brass pieces," 
 which they would get at the depot, not to bother the 
 conductor by asking questions, or let the people know 
 that she had never been further in the cars than Roch 
 ester. 
 
 To all these directions the widow gravely promised 
 compliance, saying, in an aside to Annie, "It does me 
 good to see the little critter patternize me, as if she 
 s'posed I was a tarnal fool, and didn't know a steam loco- 
 foco from a canal boat." 
 
 The day before the one appointed for the commence 
 ment of the journey came at last. Rose's three trunks, 
 of the size which makes the porters swear, were packed 
 to their utmost capacity, for Rose meant to make a win-
 
 GETTING READY. 147 
 
 ter's campaign, and display her numerous dresses at 
 parties and levees. So everything which she could pos 
 sibly and impossibly need, even to her skating dress, was 
 stowed away in the huge boxes, together with various 
 luxuries for her husband and George, and then, as the 
 afternoon was drawing to a close, she started for the cot 
 tage in the Hollow, to see that everything there was in 
 readiness. 
 
 It had not taken the widow long to pack up her three 
 dresses, and her small, old-fashioned hair trunk, locked 
 and tied round with a bit of rope, Avas standing near the 
 door ready for the morrow's early train. On Annie's 
 face there was a hopeful, expectant expression, which 
 told how glad she was at the prospect of meeting her 
 husband so soon. 
 
 " Two days more and I shall see him," she thought, 
 picturing to herself the meeting, and fancying what she 
 would do, what she would say, and how carefully she 
 would nurse him when once she was there with him. It 
 was a bright picture she drew of that meeting with her 
 husband, of the kisses, the caresses, she would lavish 
 upon him, and she was almost as impatient as Rose her 
 self to have the November day come to an end, knowing 
 that with the darkness she was nearer to the asked-for 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Just as the sun was setting, Eose took her leave, say 
 ing, as she bade Annie good-bye, " I mean to drive round 
 by the depot and get the tickets to-night, so as to save 
 - time in the morning." 
 
 Annie smiled at the little lady's restlessness, and after 
 kissing her good-night, stood by the window watching 
 her, as she drove down the street, and thinking to her 
 self, 
 
 " When I see her again it will be to-morrow"
 
 148 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 Rapidly Rose Mather's iron greys bore her to the de 
 pot, where but a few idlers were lounging 1 , as it was past 
 the hour for the cars. The window between the ladies' 
 sitting room, and the office was closed, and Rose knocked 
 against it in vain. The ticket agent had gone to his tea, 
 and with a feeling of dissatisfaction Rose was turning ' 
 away, when a sharp, clicking sound from an adjoining 
 apartment reached her ear, and stepping to the open door, 
 she stood looking in, while the telegraphic operator re 
 ceived a communication. What was it that made him start 
 so, and utter an exclamation of surprise ? Was it bad 
 news the wires had brought to him? Had there been 
 another battle ? "W as Washington in danger ? Rose 
 wished she knew, and she was about to inquire, when 
 the operator turned upon her, and asked if shejmew Mrs. 
 Graham, wife of the Lieutenant ? 
 
 "Yes, yes; has anything happened to him ?" she an 
 swered, grasping the now written message, which the 
 agent handed her, saying: 
 
 " Break it to her as gently as possible. He was the 
 finest fellow in all the company," and the kind-hearted 
 man, not yet accustomed to the horrors entailed by the 
 war, wiped a tear away, as he muttered to himself, " Poor 
 George !" 
 
 There was no need for Rose to open the ^envelope, for 
 she knew well enough what it contained, but her fingers 
 mechanically tore it apart, and with streaming eyes she 
 read the fatal message which would break poor Annie's 
 heart. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot tell her," she cried, sinking down upon 
 the hard settee, and sobbing bitterly. " How can I 
 take this to her, when I left her so happy half an hour
 
 GETTING HEADY. 149 
 
 But it must be done, and summoning all her courage 
 she bade Jake drive back to the Hollow, shivering as slie 
 saw the cheerful light shining from the window, and 
 shrinking more and more from the task imposed upon 
 her, when, as she drew nearer, she saw Annie's bright, 
 joyous face as she put together the garments for to-mor 
 row, pausing occasionally to speak to Widow Simms, who 
 sat before the blazing fire, dreaming visions of what might 
 be could she but get a pass to Richmond ! 
 
 " Don't you hear wheels ?" the widow asked as the car 
 riage stopped before the gate. 
 
 Annie thought she did, and going to window she saw 
 Rose as she came up she walk. 
 
 " Why, it's Mrs. Mather," she cried. " What can have 
 brought her back to-night ?" and hastening to the door 
 she led Rose in, asking why she was there. 
 
 " Oh, Annie," Rose replied, winding her arms around 
 Annie's neck, " I wish I did not have to tell, but I must, 
 and I know it will kill you dead. I'm sure it would me, 
 and I don't see why you should be served so either. We 
 shall not go to-morrow, for Will is going to bring him 
 home. Don't you know now ? Can't you guess ?" and 
 Rose thrust the dispatch into the hands of the bewildered 
 Annie, who clutched it eagerly, and bending to the lamp 
 light, read what Rose had read before her. 
 
 It came to her like a thunderbolt, striking all the deep 
 er because it found her so full of eager expectation; and, 
 the November wind, as it swept past the door, and down 
 the lonely Hollow, took with it one wailing cry of anguish, 
 and then all was still within the cottage, save the sobbing 
 whispers of Widow Simms and Rose bending over the 
 unconscious form which lay upon the bed, so white and 
 still that a terrible fear entered the hearts of both lest 
 the stricken Annie, too, were dead.
 
 150 EOSE MATHEB. 
 
 CHAPTER XDX 
 
 THE DYING SOLDIEB. 
 
 ACK"WARD now we turn, and stand again in the 
 chamber where we saw the glitter of the polished 
 steel, and heard the bitter cry forced out by pain 
 from lips unused to give such sign of weakness. They 
 were white now as the wintry snow which covers the 
 Northern hills, and the breath came feebly from between 
 them, as the sick man whispered faintly: 
 
 "I shall not be here if Annie comes, for when the 
 drum beats on the morrow, calling my comrades to their 
 daily drill, I shall be far away where sounds of battle 
 were never heard but once. Oh the peace, the quiet, the 
 rest, there is in Heaven. I hope you will one day come 
 to share it with me; you who have been kinder than a 
 brother," and the long, white fingers grasped the hand 
 which for so many days and weeks had soothed the ach 
 ing head and cooled the fevered pillows with all a wo 
 man's tenderness. 
 
 Never for an hour had that faithful friend deserted his 
 post. Day and night had found him there, ministering 
 to every want, and, as far as human aid could do, smooth 
 ing the pathway leading so surely down to death. But 
 his vigils were almost over now; his release was just at 
 hand, for, as George had said, the morrow's drum-beat 
 would only find there the body, which was so worn by 
 suffering and disease, that William Mather could lift it in 
 his arms as easily as he could have lifted a little child. 
 He was greatly changed from the days when he had been 
 aptly called the Eockland Hercules. But as the outer 
 man decayed, the inner life grew strong and bright, shin-
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER 151 
 
 ing forth at the last with all the splendor which perfect 
 faith in Christ's Atonement can shed around a death-bed. 
 There was no repining now, no murmuring at the myste 
 rious dealings of Providence, nothing but sweet, childish 
 confidence, and a patient waiting for the end coming on 
 so fast that George himself could feel the irregular beat 
 of his wiry pulse, and mark the death hue as it came 
 creeping on, settling first in purplish spots about his fin 
 ger tips, and spreading its ashen coloring over his clam 
 my hands. 
 
 A stormy November night had closed over Washington, 
 and the rain beat dismally against the windows of the 
 room where Mr. Mather bent over the dying soldier, lis 
 tening to what he said. 
 
 "You can't tell Annie all" George whispered, looking 
 fondly up into the face he had learned to love so well. 
 " You must write it down so as not to lose a single word. 
 Bring pen and paper, and then sit where I can see you, 
 for the sight of you does me good; you have been so kind 
 to me. 
 
 The writing utensils were brought, and then sitting 
 where George could look into his face, Mr. Mather wrote 
 as the dying man dictated: 
 
 MY DEAB, DEAR, DARLING ANNIE: It will be days, perhaps, before 
 you see this letter, and ere it reaches you somebody will have told 
 you that your poor George is dead ! Are you crying, darling, as you 
 read this? Do the tears i'all upon the words, 'poor George is dend?' 
 Don't cry, my precious Annie. It makes my heart ache to think how 
 you will sorrow and I not there to comfort you. It's hard to die 
 away from home, but not so hard as it would once have been, for I 
 hope I am a different man from the one who bade you good-bye a few 
 short months ago ; and, darling, it must comfort you to know that 
 your prayers, your sweet influence have led the wanderer home to 
 God. We shall meet again in Heaven, Annie, meet where partings 
 are unknown. It may be many years, perhaps, and the grass upoa 
 my grave may blossom many times ere yon will sleep the sleep which
 
 152 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 knows no waking but at the last you'll come where I am waiting you. 
 I know I shall be there, Annie. All the harassing doubts and f'eara 
 are gone. Simple faith in the Saviour's promise has taken them away, 
 and left me perfect peace. God bless you, Annie darling, and grant 
 that as you have guided me, so you may guide others to that home 
 above, where I am going so fast. You have made me very happy 
 since you have been my wife, and I bless you for it. It makes my 
 death pillow easier to know that not one bitter word has ever passed 
 between us, nothing but perfect confidence and love. I was not 
 good enough for you, darling. None knows that better than myself. 
 You should have married one of gentler blood and higher birth than 
 I, a poor mechanic. I have always felt this more than you, perhaps, 
 and have tried so hard not to shame you with my homespun ways, 
 had I lived, I should have improved constantly beneath your refining 
 influence, but that is all past now, and it is well, perhaps, that it is 
 so. As you grew older you might have felt there was a lack in me, a 
 something which did not satisfy the cravings of your higher nature, 
 and though you might not have loved me less, you would have seen 
 that we were not wholly congenial. I am well enough in my way, 
 but I am not a suitable companion for a girl of culture like yourself, 
 and I've often wondered that you should have chosen me. But you 
 did, and again I bless you for it. Never, never, was year so happy as 
 the one I spent with you, my darling, darling Annie, and I was look 
 ing forward to many such, but God has decreed it otherwise, and 
 what he does we know is right. I shall never see you again ! and 
 though they will bring me back to you, I shall not feel your tears 
 upon my face, or see you bending over my coffin-bed ! Still I know 
 you will do this, and that makes it necessary for me to tell what, per 
 haps, has been too long withheld, because I would spare you if pos 
 sible. 
 
 "Annie, had I lived, I never could have toiled for you as I once 
 did, for where the right arm, which has held your light form so often, 
 used to be, there is nothing now but a scarred stump, and this is 
 why I have not written. Does it make you sicken and shrink away 
 from me ? Don't, Annie. Your crippled husband's heart is as full 
 of tenderness now as ever. I was too proud of my figure, Annie, and 
 the thought that you might love me less when you knew how maimed 
 I was, hurt more than tHe cold, sharp steel, cutting into my throbbing 
 flesh. 
 
 "And now, dear Annie, I come to the hardest part of all I know 
 just how you'll start and shudder at what you deem so cruel a sugges-
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER. 153 
 
 tion, know just how keen the pang will be, for I have felt the same, 
 and my spirit well nigh fainted as I thought of the time when anoth 
 er's caressess than mine would call the sweet love light to your eye 
 and kindle the soft blushes on your cheek. Listen to me, Annie. 
 You'll be glad one day to remember that I told you what I did. You 
 are young and beautiful, and though you do not believe it now, the time 
 will surely come when my grave will not be visited as often as at first, 
 and the flowers you will plant above me when next spring's sim ia 
 shining will wither for want of care, and the rank grass growing there 
 will not be trodden down by your dear little feet, for they will be 
 waiting by another fireside than ours in the Hollow, and my Annie 
 will bear another name than mine. Do you discredit me, darling ? 
 It will surely be, and I am willing that it should, but you will never 
 know the anguish it costs me to be willing. It ia the bitterest drop 
 in all the bitter cup, but I drank it with tears and prayers, and now 
 I can calmly say to you what I am saying, can even from my death 
 bed give you to another, whoever he may be. You can never forget 
 me, 1 know; never forget your soldier husband, who fell in his coun 
 try's cause, but by and by thoughts of him will cease to give you 
 pain, and our short married life will seem like some far-off dream. 
 
 "I cannot say how it would be with me were you taken and I left, 
 but I am much like other men, and judging from their example I 
 should do just as they do, so if in after years another asks you, as I 
 once did, to be his guiding star, don't refuse for me. Think that 
 from my low grave I bless you in your new relations, and will wel 
 come you to Heaven all the same, though you come fettered and 
 bound with other links than those my love has thrown around 
 you. 
 
 "I am almost done now, Annie. There is a gathering film before 
 my eyes, and I feel the death chill creeping through my veins. It 
 would be sweet to have you here, as I go down the brink up which 
 no traveler has ever come; but it cannot be, and I will not repine. 
 There is One with me whose presence is dearer far than yours could 
 be; One whose everlasting arm will be beneath me as I pass over 
 Jordan. Leaning on Him I need no other stay, but shall go fear 
 lessly down to death. There is another with me, too, an earthly 
 friend, who has been kinder than a brother, and my heart clings to 
 him more fondly than he can ever guess. Always respect William 
 Mather, Annie, for what he has been to me. Pray that prosperity 
 may attend him all his days, and that at the last he may find a place in 
 Heaven. He is thinking of these things, I know, and from the
 
 154 EOSE MATHEE. 
 
 dreary hours spent with me there may yet spring up plants of ever 
 lasting growth. 
 
 " My mind begins to wander, darling. There's a rushing sound ic 
 my ears, while thoughts of you and thoughts of that terrible Sabbath 
 battle are blended together. Good-bye, my precious one. Don't 
 cry too much when you read this. It is not good-bye forever. A few 
 more years of earth to you, a moment of heavenly bliss to me, 
 and then we meet again, where golden harps are ringing. I can 
 almost hear them now, almost see the shining throngs sent out to 
 meet me, just as I once vainly dreamed the Eockland people would 
 come to welcome me home from war. In fancy I put my arms around 
 your neck just as I used to do; in fancy hold you to my bosom ; 
 in fancy kiss your girlish lips, and smooth your pale brown hair. 
 
 ' ' I don't know how you'll live without me ; don't know who will 
 earn your bread, but the God of the widow and fatherless will surely 
 care for my darling and keep her heart from breaking. With him I 
 leave you, knowing you are safer there than elsewhere. 
 
 "Good-bye, good-bye." 
 
 There were great tear blots upon this letter, for Mr. 
 Mather, as he penned it, had wept over it like a child, 
 forming a resolution which he wondered had not sug 
 gested itself before. . Kneeling by the dying George, he 
 said, " God will care for your darling, and I shall be His 
 instrument. So long as I have a home, Annie shall not 
 suffer. Rose's love was given to her long ago and mine 
 will follow soon. She shall be a sister to us both." 
 
 The glazed eyes lighted up with joy, and the white lips 
 whispered the thanks which ended in a prayer for bless 
 ings on one who had proved himself so kind to the poor 
 soldier. 
 
 "Come closer to me," they said; "take my hand in 
 yours and keep it there while I thank you for what 
 you've been to me. You'll forgive me, I know, that I 
 ever thought you proud, for I did, and sometimes there 
 was a bitter feeling in my heart when I saw your Rose 
 surrounded with every luxury, and thought of Annie, as
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER. 155 
 
 highly educated as she, taking a far lower place in Bock- 
 land, because her husband was a mechanic. There is 
 more of that feeling among the working classes than you 
 imagine, and you don't know how much good a familiar 
 word or a little notice from such a you does to those who 
 fill the humbler walks of life. Women feel this more 
 than men, and again I bless you for the care promised my 1 
 Annie. I do not ask that you should take her to your 
 home as you suggest. You'll think differently of that bye 
 and by, but see that she does not want; see that no win 
 ter night shall find her hungry, no winter morning cold. 
 Oh, Annie, Annie, that you should ever come to this !" 
 
 It was a bitter, wailing cry, embodying all the mighty 
 love the sick man had ever felt for his young wife. George 
 had thought himself resigned, but weak human nature, 
 which clings so tenaciously to life, was making one last 
 effort for the mastery, and the worn spirit fainted for a 
 time in the fierce struggle which ensued. The mind be 
 gan to wander, and was in fancy back again at the cot 
 tage in the Hollow, where the soldier clasped his Annie 
 to his bosom, begging of her in piteous tones not to love 
 him less because he was a cripple. " I have only one arm 
 to work with now, but I won't let you starve, for when 
 there's but one crust left, I'll give it all to you, and laugh 
 so merrily that you wih 1 never guess how the hunger pain 
 is gnawing at my heart. I've felt it once, my darling. I 
 know just wLat it's like. 'Twas on that terrible day 
 when our brave boys met the foe, way up there at Man- 
 assas. There were hours, and hours, and hours, when 
 we neither ate nor drank, and the July sun poured down 
 so hotly, drying the perspiration which dropped from my 
 hair like rain. 'Twas my very life I sweat away that aw 
 ful day, fighting for the Union. Did you hear the bat 
 tle, Annie, hear the cannon's bellowing thunder as it
 
 156 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 echoed through the Virginia woods ? "Wasn't it gra,nd, 
 the yell the Highlanders gave, as, with the 69th, they 
 bore down battery after battery, and plunged into the 
 enemy's midst ! How bravely our company played their 
 part, fighting their way through shot and shell, and 
 blood and brains, wading ankle-deep in human gore! 
 Hurrah for the Stars and Stripes, my boys! Three 
 cheers for the Federal Flag ! Yes, give us three times 
 three ; and when it floats again over all the land, remem 
 ber the soldiers who helped defend it. Hurrah, hur 
 rah !" 
 
 Mr. Mather shuddered as the wild shout rang through 
 the room. It seemed so like a mockery, that dying sol 
 dier shouting for liberty, and trying in vain to wave aloft 
 his poor, scarred stump. Anon, however, the patriotic 
 mood was changed, and the voice was very sad which 
 whispered: 
 
 "But hush! what sounds are these, mingling in the 
 glad notes of victory ? "Tis the widow, the orphan, the 
 mother, weeping over the slain ! There's mourning East 
 and West; there's weeping North and South, for the 
 dead who will return no more ! A crushed rebellion is 
 hardly worth the fearful price. Oh, Annie, pray for the 
 poor soldier, everybody pray. Honor our memory, 
 forget our faults, speak kindly of us when we are gone. 
 We gave our life for freedom ! 'Tis all that we can do. 
 Speak kindly of the soldiers slain !" 
 
 Keason was struggling back again ; and bending lower, 
 Mr. Mather said : 
 
 " George, we witt honor the soldiers dead, and care for 
 the soldiers living." 
 
 "Yes, yes!" George answered, faintly. "They need 
 it so much, more than the people guess who stay at 
 home and read about the war. It will be long, and the
 
 THE DYING SOLDIER. 157 
 
 contest terrible. The North is strong, and the South 
 determined, and both will fight like fiends. But right 
 must conquer at last, and the Star Spangled Banner 
 shall wave again even over misguided Charleston, whose 
 sons and daughters shall weep for joy as they greet the 
 joyful sight. God speed the happy day !" 
 
 Mr. Mather could only press the hand which lay again 
 in his. He could not speak, for he knew there was a 
 third presence now in the sick-room, that its dark form 
 was shading the bed whereon he sat, and with that feel 
 ing of awe death always inspires, he sat silently watch 
 ing its progress, and thinking, it may be, of the future 
 time when WiRiam Mather Would be the dying one instead 
 of George Graham. Slowly the marble pallor and the 
 strange chill crept on, pinching the nose, contracting the 
 lips, touching the forehead and moistening the soft brown 
 hair which William smoothed caressingly, as he bent 
 down to catch the last faint whisperings of a spirit nearly 
 gone. 
 
 " We fought the battle bravely. Tell them not to be 
 discouraged because of one defeat. Our cause is just. 
 'Twill triumph at the last. Don't be too bitter toward 
 the South; there are kind hearts there as well as here, 
 and its daughters weep as sadly as any at the North. 
 God help and pity them all. Annie, darling, I am almost 
 home; so near that I can see the pearly gates which 
 stand open night and day. It is not hard to die, no 
 pain, no anguish now, nothing but joy and gladness 
 and everlasting rest, rest, perfect rest for the Re 
 deemed." 
 
 Drearily the November wind went sweeping down the 
 street, and the sobbing rain beat against the window, 
 whilst the misty daylight came struggling faintly into
 
 158 ROSE MATHEK. 
 
 the silent room which held the living and the dead ; the 
 one cold, and white, and still, his features wearing a 
 smile of peace as if he had indeed entered into everlast 
 ing rest, the other kneeling by his side, and with his 
 face buried in the pillows, praying that when his time 
 should come, he, too, might die the death of the righte 
 ous, and go where George had gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MATTEKS IN ROCKLAND. 
 
 ITH quivering lip Mr. Mather told the members 
 of Company R that their lieutenant was dead ; 
 and strong men as they were they did not deem 
 themselves unmanly that they wiped the big tears away, 
 and crowding around their informer anxiously asked for 
 particulars of their departed comrade, all speaking kind 
 ly of him, and each thinking of the sweet girl-wife at 
 home on whom the news would fall so crushingly. A 
 soldier's dying was no novel thing in Washington, 
 and so, aside from Company E, there were few who 
 knew or cared that another soul had gone to the God. 
 who gave it, that another victim was added to the list 
 which shall one day come up with fearful blackness be 
 fore the provokers of the war. The drums beat just the 
 same, the bands played just as merrily, and the busy 
 
 tide went on as if the quiet chamber in street 
 
 held no stiffened form, once as full of life and hope as 
 the gay troops marching by. 
 
 But away to the Northward there was bitt; r mourn 
 ing, and many a bright eye wept as the sad news ran
 
 MATTERS IN ROCKLAND. 159 
 
 along the streets that Rocldand's young lieutenant, of 
 whom the people were justly proud, lay dead in "Wash 
 ington, and maliy a heart beat with sympathy for the 
 young wife who, ever since hearing the fatal news, had 
 lain upon her bed, more dead than alive, with a look 
 upon her white face which told better than words of the 
 anguish she was enduring. 
 
 Nothing could induce Rose to leave her for a moment. 
 " Witt had staid by George," she said, " and she should 
 stay by Annie." 
 
 With her sitting by, Annie grew stronger, and could 
 at last talk calmly of what was expected on the morrow. 
 
 " It will be terrible," she said, " to hear the tramp of 
 feet coming up the walk, and know they are bringing 
 George! Oh, Mrs. Mather, you'll stay by me, won't 
 you, even if your husband is among the number ?" 
 
 Annie did not mean to be selfish. She was too much 
 benumbed to realize anything fully, and she never 
 thought what it would cost Rose to stay there, knowing 
 her husband would seek her at home, and be so disap 
 pointed at not finding her there. Rose could not refuse 
 a request so touchingly made, but just as the morning 
 broke she went home for a few moments to see that all 
 necessary preparations were made for "Will's comfort; 
 then, penning him a note to tell why she was not there 
 to meet him, she returned again to the cottage, where 
 Widow Simms was busily at work setting things to rights 
 for the expected arrival, her tears falling upon the fur 
 niture she was dusting, and her chest heaving with sobs 
 as she heard in the distance the sound of a gathering 
 crowd, and thought, 
 
 " It may be my boy they'll go up next to meet." 
 
 Poor Annie, too, shuddered and moaned as she caught 
 the ominous sounds, and knew what they portended.
 
 160 EOSE MATHER 
 
 " It would be better to bring him back quietly," she 
 said. " It seems almost like mockery, this parade, 
 which he can never know. I may be glad, by and by, 
 that they honored him thus, but it's so hard now," and 
 covering her head with her pillow, Annie wept silently as 
 she heard the mournful beat of the muffled drum, and 
 knew the march to the depot had commenced. 
 
 How Rose wanted to be in the street and see her 
 husband when he came; but with heroic self-denial, she 
 forced down every longing to be away, and sitting down 
 by Annie, busied herself with counting off the minutes 
 and wondering if the clock would ever point to half-past 
 ten, or the train ever arrive. 
 
 There was a great crowd out that morning to meet the 
 returning soldier, and George's dream of what might be 
 when he came back again was more than realized. 
 There were men and carriages upon the street, and 
 groups of women at the corners, while the little boys ran 
 up and down. But in the beat of the muffled drum there 
 was a tone which made the hearts of those who heard it 
 overflow with tears, as they remembered what that dirge- 
 like music meant. Around the jammed white hat of the 
 man who played the fife there was a badge of mourning, 
 and in the notes he trilled a mournful cadence far differ 
 ent from the patriotic strains he played as a farewell to 
 Bockland soldiers, going forth to battle, with hopes so 
 sanguine of success. One of that youthful band was 
 coming back; not full of life and fiery ambition as when he 
 went away, dreaming bright dreams of the glory he would 
 win, and the laurels he would wear, when once again he 
 trod the streets at home. Not as a conquering hero, 
 with the crown of fame on his brow, though the crown 
 indeed was won, and where the golden light of Heaven 
 shines from the everlasting hills, he was wearing it in
 
 MATTERS IN ROCKLAND. 161 
 
 glory. But his ear was deaf to all earthly sounds, and 
 the tribute of respect his friends fain would bestow upon 
 him, awakened no thrill in his cold, pulseless heart. 
 Still they felt that all honor was due to the dead, and so 
 they had come up to meet him, a greater throng than 
 any of which he had dreamed when ambition burned 
 within his bosom. There was a carriage waiting, too, 
 just as he hoped there might be; a carriage sent express 
 ly for him, but the children on the sidewalk shrank 
 away and ceased their noisy clamor as it went by, its 
 sombre appearance somewhat relieved by the gay color 
 ing of the Stars and Stripes laid reverently upon it. 
 
 Slowly up the street the long procession passed, un 
 mindful of the rain which, mingled with the snow and 
 sleet, beat upon the pavements, and dashed against the 
 window-panes, from which many a tear-stained face 
 looked out upon the gloomy scene, made ten times 
 gloomier by the sighing of the wind and the rifts of 
 leaden clouds veiling the November sky. Over the east 
 ern hills there was a rising wreath of smoke, and a shrill, 
 discordant scream told that the train was coming, just 
 as the carriage sent for George drew up to its appointed 
 place. 
 
 Gently, carefully, tenderly they lifted him out, and set 
 him dovvn in their midst; but no loud cheering rent the 
 air, no acclamations of applause, nothing save that 
 dreadful muffled beat, and the soft notes of the fife, tell 
 ing to the passengers leaning from the windows that the 
 dead, as well as the living, had been their fellow-trav 
 eller. The banner upon the hearse told the rest of the 
 sad story, and with a sigh to the memory of the unknown 
 soldier, the passengers resumed their seats, and the train 
 sped on its way, leaving the Eockland people alone with 
 their dead.
 
 162 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 Reverently they placed him in the carriage "which none 
 cared to share with him. Carefully they wrapped around 
 him the Stars and Stripes, and dropping the heavy cur 
 tains, followed through the streets to the cottage in the 
 Hollow, which he had left so full of life and hope. 
 Around that cottage there was a gathered multitude 
 next day, and though on the unsheltered heads of those 
 without, the driving rain was falling, they waited patient 
 ly while the prayer was said, and the funeral anthem 
 chanted. Then there came a bustling moment, people 
 passing beneath the Star Spangled Banner, and pausing 
 to look at the dead. There were sobs and tears, and 
 words of fond regret, and then the coffin-lid was closed, 
 and once more that muffled beat was heard, as with arms 
 reversed the Rockland Guards marched up the walk, 
 where, leaning upon their guns they stood, while strong 
 men carried out their late companion, and placed him in 
 the hearse, the carriage sent for him. There was no rela 
 tive to go with him to the grave, none in whose veins 
 his blood was flowing, so Mr. Mather and Rose took the 
 lead, followed by a promiscuous crowd of carriages and 
 pedestrians, the very horses keeping time to the solemn 
 music beaten by the drum, and played by the man in the 
 jammed white hat. 
 
 Slowly through the November rain, through the 
 November sleet, and through the November mist they 
 bore him on through the streets which he so oft had 
 trodden; on past the cottage he meant to buy for poor 
 Annie, whispering to herself with every note of the toll 
 ing bell, "George has gone to Heaven." Onward, still 
 onward, till streets and cottage were left behind, and 
 they came to where the marble columns, gleaming 
 through the autumnal fog, told who peopled that si 
 lent yard. Just by the gate, the bearers paused, and
 
 MATTERS IN EOCKLAKD. 163 
 
 stood with uncovered heads while the* solemn words 
 were uttered, " Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to 
 dust !" Then, when it was all over, the long procession 
 moved through the spacious churchyard, past the tall 
 monuments betokening worldly wealth ; past the less 
 imposing stones, whose lettering told of treasure in 
 Heaven; past the group of oedar trees and pine; past the 
 graves of the nameless dead, and so out upon the highway, 
 Rose Mather starting in alarm as the band struck up a 
 quicker, merrier march, whose stirring, jubilant notes 
 seemed so much like mockery. She knew it was the 
 custom, but the music grated none the less harshly, and 
 drawing her veil over her face, she wept silently, occa 
 sionally glancing backward to the spot of freshly up 
 turned earth where Eockland's first soldier was buried, 
 : the brave, self-denying George, who gave all he had 
 for his country, and died in her behalf. 
 
 Four weeks after George's death, Annie left the cot 
 tage in the Hollow, and went to live for a time with Mrs. 
 Mather. Early orphaned, and thrown upon the charities 
 of a scheming aunt, who, after her marriage with George, 
 had cast her off entirely, there was now no one to whom 
 she could look for help and sympathy save Rose, and 
 when the latter insisted that her home should be Annie's 
 also, while William, too, joined his entreaties with those 
 of his wife, and urged as one reason his promise made 
 to George, Annie consented on condition that as soon as 
 her health was sufficiently restored, she should do some 
 thing for herself, either as teacher, or governess in some 
 private family. 
 
 Amid a wild storm of sobs and tears she had read her 
 husband's dying message, growing sick and faint just as 
 he knew she would when first she learned of his loss, 
 and why it was he had never written to her himself. But
 
 164 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 this was naught compared to the horror which crept 
 round her heart as she read what George had written of 
 a coming time when the long- grave by the gate would not 
 be visited as often as at first, or he who slept there 
 remembered as tearfully. 
 
 " Oh, George, George !" she cried, " it was cruel to 
 tell me so," and sinking to her knees, she essayed to 
 breathe a vow that other love than that she had borne 
 for George Graham should never find entrance to her 
 bosom. But something sealed her lips, the words she 
 would have uttered were unspoken, and the rash vow 
 was not made. 
 
 Still there was an added drop to her already brimming 
 cup of sorrow, and a sadder, more loving note in the tone 
 of her voice when she spoke of her husband, as if she would 
 fortify herself against the possibility of his prediction com 
 ing true. It was a sorry day when she finally left her 
 cottage home, and only God was witness to the parting; 
 but the dim, swollen eyes and colorless cheeks attested 
 to its bitterness, as, with one great upheaving sob, she 
 crossed the threshold and entered the carriage where 
 Rose sat waiting for her, while the motherly Widow 
 Simms wrapped around her the pile of shawls which 
 were to shield her from the cold, and bade her god-speed 
 to her new home. 
 
 Rapidly the carriage drove away, while the widow re 
 turned to the cottage to perform the last needful office of 
 fastening down the windows and locking up the doors, 
 then, with a sigh at the changes a few short months had 
 wrought, she went back to her own long deserted home. 
 And the busy tide of life rolled on in Rockland just the 
 same as if in the churchyard there was no new-made 
 grave, holding the buried love of Annie, who, in Rose 
 Mather's beautiful home, was surrounded with every
 
 THE DESEETEK. 165 
 
 possible comfort and luxury, and treated with as much 
 consideration as if she were a born princess, instead of 
 the humble woman, who, a few months before, was wholly 
 unknown to the little lady of the Mather Mansion. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE DESERTER. 
 
 NOTHER had taken George's place in Company 
 R, and both the Widow Simrns and Susan 
 Simms shed tears of natural pride when they 
 read that John was the favored one, and bore the title of 
 Lieutenant. It more than half atoned for his long ab 
 sence to the young wife, who, greatly to her mother-in- 
 law's disgust, was made the happy possessor of a set of 
 furs bought with a part of the new lieutenant's in 
 creased wages. 
 
 ^'Better lay by for a wet day; but easy come, easy 
 go. They will never be worth a cent. Tain't like them 
 Ruggleses to save, and to think of the silly critter's 
 comin' round in the storm just to show 'em, late on 
 Saturday night; I'm glad I wan't to hum," was the 
 widow's muttered comment, as on the Sunday following 
 the receipt of the furs she pinned around her high, 
 square shoulders, the ten years' old blanket shawl, and 
 tying round her neck the faded tippet of even greater 
 age, started for church, determining not to notice or 
 speak to the extravagant Susan, if she appeared, as she 
 was sure to do, in her new finery." 
 
 This was hardly the right kind of spirit for the widow
 
 166 BOSE MATHER. 
 
 to take to church, but hers was a peculiar nature, and 
 the grace which would have sufficed to make Annie Gra 
 ham an angel, would hardly have kept her from boiling 
 over at the most trivial matter. This the widow felt, 
 and it made her more distrustful of herself, more careful 
 to keep down the first approaches of her besetting sin. 
 But the furs had seriously disturbed her, particularly as 
 they were said to have cost $35 " more than she had 
 spent on her mortal body in half-a-dozen years," she 
 thought, as, with her well-worn Prayer Book in hand, 
 and a pair of Eli's darned, blue socks upon her feet to 
 keep them from the snow which had fallen the night be 
 fore, she walked rapidly on in the direction of St. 
 Luke's. 
 
 There was an unusual stir about the doors, a crowd 
 of eagerly talking people, and conspicuous among them 
 was Susan, looking so pretty in her neatly fitting collar, 
 and holding her little muff so gracefully that the widow 
 began to relent at once, and to feel a kind of pride that 
 " John's wife was as genteel lookin' as the next one, if 
 she did come of them shiftless Kuggleses," but inasmuch 
 as it was Sunday, she shouldn't flatter Susan by speak 
 ing of the furs; but the first chance she got on a week 
 day she'd tell her "she was glad she got 'em, if they 
 didn't make her vain; though I know they will," she 
 added; "it's Euggles natur''and she's standin' out there 
 now, just to show 'em to the folks in the street goin' to 
 the Methodis' meetin'." 
 
 But the widow was mistaken, for Susan had scarcely a 
 thought of her furs, so absorbed was she in throwing 
 what little light she could upon a mystery which was 
 troubling the people and keeping them outside the door, 
 while they talked the matter over. It seemed that the 
 sexton, when, at about ten o'clock on the previous night,
 
 THE DESEKTEK. 167 
 
 lie came to see that the fire kindled in the furnace at 
 sunset was safe, had stumbled over a human form lying 
 upon the pile of evergreens gathered for the Christmas 
 decorations, and placed for safe keeping in the cellar of 
 the church. There was a cry between surprise and ter 
 ror, and a muttered oath, and then the ragged, fright 
 ened intruder sprang to his feet, and bounding up the 
 narrow stairway, fled through the open vestry door ere 
 the sexton had time to collect his scattered senses. 
 
 This was his story, corroborated by Susan Simms, who 
 said that when, at about seven o'clock the previous night, 
 she was passing the church, she saw a dark-looking ob 
 ject, which she at first mistook for a woman, but as she 
 came nearer she saw it was the figure of a man who, 
 at the sound of her steps, dropped behind a pile of rub 
 bish, and thus disappeared from view, that feeling 
 timid she did not return home that way, but took the 
 more circuitous route past her mother-in-law's, where she 
 stopped for a moment and repeated the circumstance to 
 the .neighbor she found staying there. 
 
 " Then she didn't come half a mile out of the way just 
 to tell of her finery," thought the widow, coming nearer 
 to Susan, and even smoothing the soft fur, which, half 
 an hour before, had so provoked her ire. 
 
 Various were the surmises as to who the man could 
 be, and why he had entered the lonesome cellar; and 
 the morning services had commenced ere the knot of 
 talkers and listeners at the door disbanded and took 
 their accustomed places in the church. Kose Mather 
 was' there as usual, but she knelt in her handsome pew 
 alone, for Will had been gone from her two whole weeks, 
 and Annie was still too much of an invalid to venture 
 out. With others at the door she heard of the intruder, 
 and after asking a few questions she had passed into the
 
 168 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 aisle, with a certain wise air about her, as if she knew 
 something which she should not tell ! As one after an 
 other came in, it might have been observed that she 
 turned often and curiously toward the door, glancing 
 occasionally at the spot where Mrs. Baker, now a regular 
 attendant, was in the habit pf sitting. She was not there 
 to-day, a fact which no one observed save Rose and the 
 Widow Simms, the latter of whom only noticed it because 
 Annie, she knew, was deeply interested in the repentant 
 woman. "She's sick, most likely," the widow thought, 
 while Rose, too, had her own opinion as to what kept 
 Harry's mother from church that Sunday morning. 
 
 Meantime the object of their solicitude sat crouching 
 over the fire of wet green wood she had succeed 
 ed in coaxing into a blaze, now looking nervously 
 toward the half closed door of the small room her boys 
 used to occupy, and again congratulating herself that it 
 was Sunday, and consequently no one would be coming 
 there to pry into the secret she was guarding as care 
 fully as ever tigress guarded its threatened young. The 
 half frozen, famished wretch, fleeing from the shadow of 
 the church out into the wintry storm which had come 
 up since nightfall, had gone next to the tumble-down 
 shanty of a house which Mrs. Baker called her home. 
 It was late for a light to be there, for Mrs. Baker kept 
 early hours; but through the driving snow the wanderer, 
 as he turned the corner, caught a friendly gleam shining 
 out from the dingy windows, and waking in his breast 
 one great wild throb of joy, such as some lost mariner 
 feels when he spies in the distance the friendly bark and 
 knows there's help at hand. 
 
 It was a desolate, dreary home, but to the wanderer 
 hastening toward it, and glancing so timidly around as
 
 THE DESEKTER. 169 
 
 if behind each rift of snow there were bristling bayonets 
 sent to stop his course, it seemed a splendid palace. 
 Could he gain that shelter he was safe. His mother 
 would shield him from the dreaded officers he fancied 
 were on his track, and so, the sick, fainting man kept on 
 until the old board fence was reached, where, leaning 
 against the gate, he stood a moment, and with his fever 
 ish hand scooped up the grateful snow to cool his burn 
 ing forehead. The tallow candle was burning yet within 
 the cottage, but the fire was raked together on the hearth 
 and the stranger could see the glow of the red embers 
 and the broken shovel lain across the andiron. 
 
 "I wonder what she's doing up so late," he whispered, 
 and moving cautiously up the walk to the uncurtained 
 window, he started suddenly at the novel sight which 
 met his view. 
 
 Years before, when he lived in New England, he re 
 membered that one day when playing in the garret he 
 had found in a chest of rubbish, a large, square book, 
 which Hal had said was their grandmother's Bible. 
 Afterward he had seen it standing against a broken light 
 of glass, to keep out the snow which sometimes beat in 
 upon himself and Hal, and that was the last he could re 
 member concerning that Bible or any other belonging to 
 his mother. How then was he astonished to see it lying 
 on the old round stand, the dim tallow candle casting a 
 flickering light upon the yellow leaves and upon the fig 
 ure of his mother bending over them, and loudly whis 
 pering the woTOs she was reading. It was not an en 
 tirely new business to Mrs. Baker, the reading of the 
 Bible, for after the news of Harry's death she had hunted 
 up the long neglected volume which had given her aged 
 mother so much comfort. It might bring consolation to 
 her, she thought, and so with tearful eyes and aching 
 
 8
 
 170 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 heart she had tried to read and understand the sacred 
 pages, pencil-marked, some of them, by a sainted moth 
 er's hand, and fraught with so many memories of the 
 olden time when she was not the hard, wrinkled, desolate 
 creature people knew as Mrs. Baker. The way of life 
 was still dark and dim to that half heathenish woman, 
 but she was determinedly groping on, following the little 
 light she had, and each night found her bending over 
 the Bible ere she sought the humble bed standing there 
 in the dark corner, just where it stood that morning when 
 her two boys went away. 
 
 It was far more comfortable-looking now than then, 
 for there was a nice, warm blanket on it, while the outer 
 covering was clean and new. Eose Mather had kept her 
 promise given in' the hour of the poor mother's bereave 
 ment, and scattered about the room were numerous arti 
 cles which once did duty in the servants' apartments at 
 the Mather mansion. But the intruder did not notice 
 these ; he was too much absorbed with the stooping 
 figure, whispering a part of the 14th chapter of John, 
 and occasionally wiping away a tear as she came to some 
 passage more beautiful than the others. There were 
 tears, too, in the eyes of the rough man outside, but he 
 forced them back, and pressing closer to the window, 
 watched the lone woman inside, as, sinking down upon 
 her knees, with the flickering candle shining on her 
 wrinkled face, she prayed first for herself and then for 
 him, the boy standing without the door, and listening, 
 while his heart beat so loudly that he afflost feared she 
 would hear and know that he was there. But she paid 
 no heed, and the tremulous voice went on, asking that 
 God would follow and bless, and care for the Billy boy 
 far away, and bring him back to the mother who had 
 never been to him what she ought. The name Billy boy
 
 THE DESEKTER. 171 
 
 touched a tender chord, and stretching out his hands 
 toward her, the man who bore that name sobbed out, 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother, I'm here, I'm here !" 
 
 There was a sudden pause, and turning her head the 
 startled woman listened. 
 
 Was it the wind moaning round her lonesome dwelling, 
 or was it poor dead Harry calling to her, as in her su 
 perstitious imagination she sometimes believed he did 
 when she was praying for Billy, reproaching her that no 
 prayer had ever been said for him, the lost one ? Again 
 the sobbing cry, and a rustling movement by the door. 
 It could not be the wind, for that only shook the loosen 
 ed timbers or screamed through some gaping crevice, 
 while this, whatever it might be, called: 
 
 "Mother, mother, come." 
 
 Was it a warning from the other world, a summons 
 to follow her first-born ? Annie Graham had said there 
 were no such messa ges sent to us, and Annie was always 
 right; so the frightened woman listened again until the 
 rattling of the latch, and a feeble, timid knock told her 
 there was more than the winter wind or spirits of the 
 dead about her house that night. There was a human 
 being seeking to gain entrance, and tottering to the door 
 she asked who it was, and what they wanted there. 
 
 " Mother, mother, let me in. I'm your Billy boy, come 
 from the war." 
 
 The words were hardly uttered ere the door was 
 opened wide, the frantic woman dragging rather than 
 leading in the worn-out man, who, staggering forward, 
 fell into her arms, sobbing piteously, 
 
 " I'm so sick and tired. I've been weeks on the road, 
 hiding everywhere; for, mother, shut the door tight, so 
 nobody can hear, I've run away ; I've had enough ol 
 war, and so I left one night. You know what they do
 
 172 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 to deserters. They hang them, neck and heels. Oh, 
 mother, mother, don't let them find me, will you ? I've 
 done my best in one dreadful battle. They musii't get 
 me now. Will they, think ?" and Billy cast a searching 
 glance around the room to see that no officer was there 
 with power to take him back. 
 
 Would they get him from her ? She'd like to see them 
 do it, she said, as she led the childish deserter to the 
 hearth, he leaning heavily upon her, and falling, rather 
 than sitting upon the chair she brought. Weary of a 
 soldier's life, and satisfied with one taste of battle, he 
 had stolen away one night when the rain and the dark 
 ness sheltered him from observation. Greatly magnify 
 ing the value put upon himself, as well as the chances 
 for detection, he had not dared to take the cars, lest at 
 every station there should be one of the police waiting 
 to secure him. So he had made the entire journey from 
 Washington on foot, travelling by night and. resting by 
 day, sometimes in barns, but oftener in the woods, 
 where some friendly stump or leafless tree was his only 
 shelter. He had reached his home at last, but his hag 
 gard face, his blood-shot eyes, his blistered feet and tat 
 tered garments bore witness to his long, painful journey. 
 
 With streaming eyes the mother listened to the story, 
 then opening the bed of coals, she warmed and chafed 
 his half-frozen himbs, handling tenderly the poor, blis 
 tered feet, from which the soles of the shoes had 
 dropped, leaving them exposed. But all in vain did she 
 prepare the cup of fragrant tea, sent her that afternoon 
 by Mrs. Mather. Billy could do little more than taste it. 
 He was too tired, he said; he should be better in. the 
 morning, after he had slept. So with eager, trembling 
 hands bis mother fixed the bed in the little room which 
 had not been used since he went away, bringing her own
 
 THE DESERTER. 173 
 
 pillows, and the nice rose blanket given by Mrs. Mather, 
 together with a strip of carpet which she spread upon 
 the floor so as to make it soft for Billy's wounded, bleed 
 ing feet. How sick he was, and how he moaned in his 
 fitful sleep, now talking of Hal, now of being shot, and 
 again of the Bible on the stand, and the prayer he heard 
 his mother make. 
 
 Mrs. Baker was not accustomed to sickness, but she 
 knew this was no ordinary case, and she suggested send 
 ing for the doctor; but Billy started up in such dismay, 
 telling her no one must know that he was there unless 
 she wanted him killed, that he succeeded in communi 
 cating a part of his terror to her, and she spent the en 
 tire Sunday by her child's bedside, doing what she could 
 to allay the raging fever increasing so fast, and keeping 
 watch to see that no one came near to drag her boy 
 away. 
 
 The next morning it became absolutely necessary for 
 her to leave him for a time, as she must procure the few 
 necessaries he needed, and taking advantage of the heavy 
 sleep into which he had fallen, she stole noiselessly out, 
 hoping to return ere he should wake. Scarcely, how 
 ever, had she left the lane and turned into Main Street, 
 when Eose came tripping to the gate, drawn thither by 
 a curiosity to see if her suspicions were correct. She 
 had learned from her husband of Bill's exit from Wash 
 ington, and for some days had been expecting to hear of 
 his arrival in town. That he had come she was certain, 
 and telling Annie where she was going, she had started 
 ^rather early for Mrs. Baker's. As her knock met with 
 no response she entered without further ceremony, and 
 passing on through the low dark kitchen came to the 
 door of the little room where Bill lay breathing heavily, 
 and muttering about camps, and guard-houses, and
 
 174 EOSE MATHEB. 
 
 deserters. The sight of suffering alwa5 r s awoke a chord 
 of sympathy in Eose Mather's bosom, and without a 
 thought of danger she bent close to the sick man, and 
 involuntarily laid her soft, cool hand upon his burning 
 forehead. The touch awoke him, but in the wild eyes 
 turned upon her there was no glance of recognition, 01 
 look of fear. He evidently fancied himself back in 
 Washington, and asked the name of her regiment. 
 
 "Oh, I know," he continued, still keeping his eyes 
 fixed upon her, "you're the chap I took, but you've i'ell 
 away mightily since then. Yankee fare don't set well on 
 your Kebel stomach, I guess," and a wild, coarse laugh 
 rang through the room, making Rose shudder and draw 
 back, for she felt intuitively that Billy was mad. 
 
 She was not, however, afraid of him, and standing at 
 a little distance, she tried to reason with him, telling 
 him she was not a Kebel, she was Mrs. Mather, come 
 to do him good. 
 
 Bill only laughed derisively. " Couldn't cheat him. 
 Guess he knew them eyes and them hands, white as cot 
 ton wool. I'll bet I've got a ring that'll fit 'em," he con 
 tinued, and reaching for his pantaloons, which he had 
 insisted should lie behind him on the bed, he took from 
 the pocket the costly diamond once worn by his Eebel 
 captive, and confisticcded by him as con-tra-band. " Try it 
 on," he said to Hose, who mechanically obeyed, wonder 
 ing why it should look so familiar to her. 
 
 It was too large for her slender fingers, and dropping 
 off, rolled upon the floor. Eose at once set herself to 
 finding the missing ring, and had just returned it to its 
 owner when Mrs. Baker came in, terribly alarmed at 
 finding Mrs. Mather there. Eose, however, quieted .her 
 fears at once by telling her she had known for some 
 days past of Bill's desertion, and had kept it from every
 
 THE DESERTER. 175 
 
 one but Annie, because her husband thought it best. 
 She did not believe he would be followed, she said, for 
 Will wrote that he had become so reckless and discon 
 tented that his absence" was no loss to the army, but for 
 a while it might be well that his presence should not be 
 known in Rockland, as the people might be indignant at 
 a deserter, and perhaps in their excitement do him some 
 injury. 
 
 "He ought to have medical advice, though," she 
 added, " for I think he's very sick." 
 
 Mrs. Baker knew he was, and fear lest he should die 
 overcame every other feeling, making her consent that 
 Kose should call their family physician. It was nearly 
 noon ere he arrived, and in the meantime Rose had 
 reported the case to Annie, and then returning to Mrs. 
 Baker's, took her place by Billy, who called her "his 
 little Rebel," and ordered her about as if he had been a 
 commanding officer, and she his subordinate. The 
 novelty of the thing was rather pleasing to Rose, and not 
 withstanding that the physician pronounced the disease 
 typhus fever in its most violent form, she persisted in 
 staying, saying some one must help Mrs. Baker, and she 
 was not afraid. 
 
 So day after day found her in that comfortless dwell 
 ing, while the frequent callers at the Mather mansion 
 wondered where she could be. It came out at last that 
 she was nursing William Baker, lying dangerously sick 
 of typhus fever in his mother's dilapidated home, and 
 then, as villagers will, the Rockland people wondered 
 and gossiped, and wondered again how the aristocratic 
 Rose Mather could sit hour after hour, in that poverty- 
 stricken cottage, ministering to the wants of despised 
 Bill Baker. Rose hardly knew, herself, and when ques 
 tioned upc i the subject could only reply
 
 176 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 "I guess it's because lie's a soldier, and I must do 
 something for the war. Will knows it. He says I'm 
 doing right, and Annie Graham, too." 
 
 And so, with her heart kept brave by thinking that 
 Will and Annie approved her course, Rose went every 
 day to Mrs. Baker's, doing more by her cheerful presence 
 and the needful comforts she supplied to arrest the pro 
 gress of the disease and effect a favorable change, than 
 all the physicians in the county could have done. Bill 
 owed his life to her, and it was touching to witness his 
 childish gratitude when reason resumed her throne, and 
 he learned who it was he had sometimes called his " lit 
 tle Rebel," and again had fancied was some beautiful 
 angel sent to cure and comfort him. He had often seen 
 Mrs. Mather in the streets before he went away; but 
 never as closely as now, and for hours after his conval 
 escence he would lie looking into her face, which seemed 
 to puzzle him greatly. Occasionally, too, he would take 
 from his pocket a picture, which he evidently compared 
 with something about her person, then, with a sly wink, 
 which began to be very annoying, he would return it to 
 its hiding-place, and ask her sundry questions, which, 
 under ordinary circumstances, she would have resented 
 as being too familiar. 
 
 At last, one afternoon, as she was sitting by him, while 
 his mother did some errands in the village, he suddenly 
 surprised her by dropping upon her lap an elegant gold 
 watch, which Rose knew at a glance must have belonged 
 to some person of taste and wealth. 
 
 * " What is it ? Whose is it ?" she asked, and Bill re 
 plied: 
 
 " 'Twas his'n, the chap's I took, you know. He's down 
 to the old Capitol now, shet up. Didn't you never heai 
 of him ?"
 
 THE DESEKTEK. 177 
 
 " You mean the young man you captured," Rose re 
 plied. " Tell me about him, please. Who was he, and 
 where was his home ?" 
 
 " You tell," Bill answered, with one of his peculiar 
 winks. "He gave it as John Brown; but a chap who 
 knowd him said 'twas somethin' else. He wan't a Rebel 
 neither that is, it wan't his nater, for he came from 
 Yankee land." 
 
 "A traitor, then," Rose suggested, and Bill replied: 
 
 "You needn't guess agin; and you and I or'to be glad 
 that no such truck belongs to us." 
 
 Rose colored scarlet, but made no response, for re 
 creant Jimmie flashed across her mind, and she shrank 
 from having even the vulgar Bill know how intimately 
 she was connected with a traitor. Bill watched her nar 
 rowly, and thinking to himself, 
 
 "I'm on the right track, I'll bet," he continued, "I 
 hain't no relations in the Confederate army, I know, and 
 I don't an atom b'lieve you have." 
 
 No answer from Rose, except a heightened bloom upon 
 her cheek, and her inquisitor went on : 
 
 " Have you any friends there ?" 
 
 Rose could not tell a lie, and after a moment's silence, 
 she stammered out: 
 
 " Please don't ask me. Oh, Jimmie, Jimmie, I wish I 
 knew where he was !" and the great tears trickled 
 through the snowy fingers clasped over her flushed face. 
 
 " I'll be darned if I aint cryin' too," Bill said, wiping 
 his eyes with his shirt sleeve, " but bein' I'm in for it I 
 may as well see it through." 
 
 " What might be your name before it was Miss 
 Marthers ?" 
 
 " Carleton Hf and Rose looked up quickly at Bill, who 
 continued:
 
 178 BOSE JTATHER 
 
 " You came from Boston, I b'lieve ?" 
 
 " Yes, from Boston," and Rose leaned eagerly forward, 
 while Bill, with his favorite " Nuff said," plunged his hand 
 into his pocket, and taking out the picture, passed it to 
 Rose. 
 
 Quick as thought the bright color faded from her cheek, 
 and with ashen, quivering lips, she whispered; 
 
 " It's I! It's mine, taken for Jimmie, just before he 
 went away ! How came you by it ? Oh tell me !" and in 
 the voice there was a tone of increasing anguish. " Tell 
 me, was it, was it, Jimmie, my brother, whom you took 
 prisoner and carried to "Washington ?" 
 
 " If James Carleton is your brother, I s'pose it was," 
 Bill said; "and that's the very picter he stuck to like a 
 chestnut burr, begging for it like a dog, and offerin' ev 
 erything he had if I'd give it up." 
 
 " Why didn't you, then ?" and Rose's eye blazed with 
 anger, making Bill shrink before their indignant gaze. 
 
 " 'Twas rotten mean in me, I know," he said timidly, 
 " but they was con-tra-band according to law, and I felt 
 so savage at the pesky Rebels then. I didn't know 
 'twas you he teased so for, actually cryin' when I 
 wouldn't give it up. I'm sorry, I be, I swan, and I'll 
 give you every confounded contraband. You've got the 
 watch, and there's the ring, the spetacles, the tobarker 
 box, and the thingumbob for cigars, the sum total of his 
 traps, except a chaw or so of the weed that I couldn't 
 very well bring back," and Bill's face wore a very satisfied 
 expression as he laid in Rose's lap every article belonging 
 to her brother. 
 
 She knew now who the prisoner was in whom she had 
 felt so strange an interest. It was Jimmie, and the mys 
 tery concerning his fate was solved. He \^ps a captive at 
 Washington, and her heart ached to its very core as she
 
 NEWS DIKECT FROM JIMMIE. 179 
 
 thought of both her brothers languishing so many 
 weary months in prison. Very minutely she questioned 
 Bill, elicting from him little or nothing concerning 
 Jimmie's present condition. He only knew that he was 
 a captive still, that he was represented as maintaining 
 the utmost reserve, seldom speaking except to answer di 
 rect questions, and that he seemed very unhappy. 
 
 "Poor boy, he wants to come home, I know," and 
 Rose sobbed aloud, as she thought how desolate and 
 homesick he must be. " I can't stay any longer to-day," 
 she said, as she heard Mrs. Baker at the door, and bid 
 ding Bill good-bye, she hurried home, where, after a long 
 passionate flood of tears, wept in Annie's lap, she wrote 
 to her mother and husband both, telling them where 
 Jimmie was, and begging of the former to come at once 
 and go with her to Washington. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NEWS DIBECT FKOM JIMMIE. 
 
 ,T . 
 
 'HAT night, as Rose sat alone in her cheerful 
 boudoir, musing upon the strange events which 
 had occurred within the last few months, a letter 
 was brought to her, bearing her mother's handwriting. 
 It had passed hers on the road, and Rose tore it open, 
 starting, as a soiled, tear-stained note dropped from the 
 inside upon the floor. Intuitively she felt that it was 
 from Jimmie, and catching it up, she read the home-sick, 
 heart-sick," remorseful cry of penitence and contrition 
 which the weary Rebel-boy had at last sent to his mother.
 
 180 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 Stubborness and proud reserve could hold out no longer, 
 and he had written, confessing his error, and begging 
 earnestly for the forgiveness he knew he did not deserve. 
 
 "I am not all bad," he said; "and on that quiet morning, when 
 beneath the cover of the Virginia woods I lay, watching the Union 
 soldiers coming so bravely on, there was a dizziness in my brain, and 
 a strange, womanly feeling at my heart, while a sensation I cannot 
 describe thrilled every nerve when I saw in the distance the Stars and 
 Stripes waving in the summer wind. How I wanted to warn them of 
 their danger, to bid them turn back from the snare so cunningly de 
 vised, and how proud I felt of the Federal soldiers when contrasting 
 them with ours. I fancied I could tell which were the Boston boys, 
 and there came a mist before my eyes, as I thought how your dear 
 hands and those of little Rose had possibly helped to make some por 
 tion of the dress they wore. 
 
 "You know about the battle. You read it months ago, and wept, 
 perhaps, as you thought ofJimmie firing at his own brother, it might 
 be, but, mother, I did not. I scarcely fired at all, and when I was 
 compelled to do so to avoid suspicion, it was so high that neither 
 the wounded nor the dead can accuse me as their murderer; and I'm 
 glad now that it is so. It makes my prison bed softer to know there 
 is no stain of blood upon my soul. 
 
 ' ' Poor Tom, I dare say, has written to you of our encounter 
 in the woods, but he does not know the shock it was to me to 
 meet him there, and know I could not help him. Dear Tom, my 
 eart aches more for him than for myself, for the Richmond Prison 
 Guards are not like those who keep watch over us. There are hu 
 mane people there, kind, tender hearts, which feel for any one in 
 distress, but the jailers, the common soldiers, and the rabble, are 
 not, I fear, as considerate as they might be. Many of them have 
 been made to believe the war entirely of the North's provoking, that 
 Hamlin is a mulatto, and Lincoln a foul-hearted knave, whose whole 
 aim is to set the negroes free. But enough of Southern politics. It 
 will all come clear at last, and the Star-Spangled Banner wave 
 again over every revolted State. 
 
 "Write to me, mother. Say you forgive your Rebel-boy. Say 
 that, when I am exchanged, as I hope to be, I may come home, and 
 that you will not turn away from your sinful, erring 
 
 " JIMMIE."
 
 NEWS DIEECT FEOM JIMMIE. 181 
 
 There was a message of love for Rose, and then the 
 letter closed with one last, touching entreaty that the 
 mother would forgive her child and take him back again 
 to her confidence and love. 
 
 " Of course she'll do it," Rose said, vehemently, and 
 seizing a pen and paper she wrote to "Will, inclosing a 
 note to Jimmie, full of pardon and tender love, bidding 
 him when he should be released come directly to Rock- 
 land, where their mother should be waiting for him, and 
 where she, forgetting all the past, would nurse him back 
 to health. 
 
 Nearly a week went by, and then there came a letter 
 from Will, telling how he had visited the Rebel Jimmie in 
 his prison, and Rose wept frantically as she read the par 
 ticulars of that interview when her brother first met the 
 sister's husband, of whom he had never heard. 
 
 "I found him sitting apart from the others," William wrote, "ap 
 parently absorbed in disagreeable reflections, for there was an ab 
 stracted look upon his face and deep wrinkles upon his forehead. If 
 he had not been pointed out to me, I should have known him by his 
 striking resemblance to your family. The Carleton features could 
 not be mistaken, particularly the proud curve about the mouth, and 
 the arching of the eyebrows, while I recognized at once the soft, 
 curling hair and brilliant complexion, which you will remember once 
 attracted me toward a certain little girl, who is now all the world to 
 the old bachelor Will. 
 
 " But this isn't a love letter, darling. I'm only going to tell you 
 how sorry your brother looked sitting there alone in that noisy multi 
 tude, whose language and manners are not the most refined that 
 could be desired, and how my heart warmed toward the solitary be 
 ing, and forgave him at once for all his errors past. Very haughtily 
 he bowed to me when I was introduced, and then in silence awaited 
 to hear my errand, the proud curve around his mouth deepening aa 
 he surveyed me with a hauteur which, under ordinary circumstauces, 
 would have annoyed me exceedingly. As it was, I could almost fan 
 cy myself the prisoner and he the freeman, he seemed so cool, so 
 collected, while I was embarrassed and uncertain how to act.
 
 182 ROSE MATHER 
 
 " 'Is your visit prompted by curiosity to seehdw a so-called Kebel 
 can bear confinement, or did you come on business ?' he asjied, and 
 then all my embarrassment was at an end. 
 
 " ' I came, ' I said, ' partly at your sister's request, and partly to as 
 certain how much you are wiDing to do toward the attainment of 
 your freedom.' 
 
 " I do not think he understood the last. He only caught at the 
 words, 'your sister,' and grasping my arm, he whispered hoarsely, 
 * What of my sister ? Have you seen her ? Do you know her, and 
 does she hate me now ?' 
 
 "I told him I was your husband, and with quivering lip, he 
 asked me, 'Is she well, my precious little Hose, whom I remember as 
 almost a child, and mother has she cast me off? Oh, if she only 
 knew how I am punished for my sin, she would forgive her wayward 
 boy.' 
 
 ' ' Here he broke down in such a wild storm of sobs and tears, that 
 the inmates of the prison gathered in groups around him, their looks 
 indicative of their surprise at vdtnessing so much emotion in one who up 
 to that moment had appeared haughtily indifferent to everything 
 around him. "With an authoritative gesture he waved them off, 
 and then, passing him your note, 1, too, walked away, leaving him 
 alone while he read it, but even where I stood I could hear the 
 smothered sobs he tried in vain to suppress. I am inclined to think 
 he is right in saying that joining the Confederate army was the 
 best lesson he ever learned. I am sure he must be greatly changed 
 from the reckless, daring boy, whose exploits you have described so 
 often. He is very anxious to swear allegiance to the Stars and 
 Stripes, even though he should be doomed to prison life for five 
 more weary months, and as I am not a mere private now, and have 
 considerable influence in Washington, I hope, ere long, to write that 
 he is free, and on his way to Eockland, whither he will go first. 
 
 Jimmie expresses the utmost sympathy for Tom, and says he would 
 gladly take his place, if that could be, for he fears the inmates of 
 those Blchmond tobacco houses are not always cared for, as he has 
 been at Washington. Poor Tom, I hope he will be among the list 
 of the exchanged, and if so, you may expect soon to welcome both 
 your brothers.' 
 
 No wonder Hose wept tears of joy over his letter, 
 while her thoughts went after her rebellious, but repent-
 
 NEWS DIRECT FROM JIMMIE. 18S 
 
 ant brother, nor tarried there, for, farther to the South, 
 another weary captive pined, and every fibre of her heart 
 bleed with sympathy for Tom poor Tom, she always: 
 sailed him and as the days of sickening suspense went 
 by she grew so nervous and so ill that her mother came 
 up from Boston to attend her, while Annie shook off her 
 own feelings of weary languor, and did for Rose the same 
 offices which Rose had once done for her. 
 
 "I do so wish you had been my sister," Rose said 
 to her one day, when she had been kinder than usual. 
 " I know I should be a better woman, and so would all of 
 us." 
 
 Annie made no reply, except to twine around her fin 
 gers the coils of chestnut hair, lying in such profusion 
 upon the pillows. For a few moments Rose lay perfectly 
 still, with her eyes fixed upon the paper bordering, as if 
 counting the fanciful flowers, but her thoughts were in 
 tent upon a far different subject. Turning to her moth 
 er, she suddenly asked: 
 
 " How old is Jimmie, twenty-three, or twenty-four ?" 
 
 "Twenty-three last May," was the reply, and, with 
 rather a troubled expression upon her face, Rose contin 
 ued, " Will is thirteen years older than I am," and the lit 
 tle curly head shook doubtfully. 
 
 " What are you talking about ?" Mrs. Carleton asked, 
 but Rose did not answer at once. 
 
 There was another interval of silence, and then start 
 ing quickly, Rose called out, " Mother, don't you remem 
 ber that affair of Jimmie's ever so long ago, when he was 
 a boy at school in New London?" There was a little 
 girl that he fancied, and you took him home for fear of 
 what would come of it; when you found she was poor and 
 nobody?" 
 
 Glancing quickly at Annie, who was attentively exam
 
 184 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 ining the hem-stitch of the fine linen pillow-case, Mrs, 
 Carleton said, reprovingly: 
 
 "You should not parade our family matters before 
 strangers, my daughter." 
 
 " Oh, Annie is no stranger," Rose answered, laugh 
 ingly. " She's one of our folks now, besides, she is not 
 enough interested in the love affair of a seventeen years 
 old boy ever to repeat it." 
 
 "Love affair!" Mrs. Carleton rejoined, a little scorn 
 fully. " Not very much love about it, I imagine. She 
 was stopping with her aunt at the Pequot House, and 
 Jimmie saw her a few times, passing himself off by an 
 other name than his own. If he had cared for this 
 child he would never have done that." 
 
 " He seems to have a penchant for assuming names," 
 Rose rejoined, playfully. "He called himself John 
 Brown, at Washington, while to this little Pequot girl he 
 was, let me see, what was it ? Can't you think, mother ?" 
 
 Rose was bent on talking about Jimmie and his Pe 
 quot girl, and knowing that she could not stop her, Mrs. 
 Carleton replied: 
 
 " Richard Lee, or something like thai." 
 
 " Oh, yes, ' Dick !' I remember now ; and her name 
 was, what was it, mother ? It makes my head ache so 
 trying to recall it." 
 
 " If I ever knew, I've forgotten," Mrs. Carleton said, 
 and after trying in vain to think, Rose dismissed the 
 name, but not the subject. 
 
 " How angry Jimmie was," she continued, " when you 
 brought him home, and how awfully he swore. It makes 
 you shudder, don't it?" and she turned to Annie, who 
 had shivered either with cold or horror at Jimmie's pro 
 fanity. " He was a bad boy once, but I most know he's 
 better now. Maybe, mother, this was a real nice girl,
 
 NEWS DIKECT FROM JTMMIE. 185 
 
 and if you'd let Jimmie alone lie might have become at 
 tached to her, and she have been his wife by this time. 
 Then he would not have joined the Kebel army. Don't 
 you think you and Tom were a little too severe on Jim 
 mie sometimes?" 
 
 " Perhaps so," was the faint response, as Mrs. Carle- 
 ton looked out upon the wintry landscape, seeing there 
 visions of a handsome, boyish, tearful face, flushed with 
 anger and entreaty as its owner begged of her not to 
 take him back to Boston, which he hated, but leave him 
 where he was, saying that the little girl at the Pequot 
 House had already done him more good than all the 
 sermons preached from the pulpits of the Bay State 
 Capital. 
 
 But she had disregarded Jimmie's wishes, and from 
 that time forward he had pursued a course of reckless 
 ness ending at last in prison. With a half-regretful sigh 
 Mrs. Carleton thought of all this, and in her heart she 
 blamed herself for some of her boy's disobedience. But 
 it could not now be helped, and with another sigh, she 
 turned toward Rose, still speculating as to what the re 
 sult might have been, had Jimmie been suffered to follow 
 up his first, and so far as she knew, only fancy. 
 
 " What do you suppose would have happened if Jim 
 mie had staid in New London, and this scheming aunt, 
 whom mother feared far more than the Pequot, had staid 
 there too ?" she asked of Annie, forgetting that the parti 
 culars of the affair had not been repeated. 
 
 But it did not matter, for Annie answered all the 
 same. She was sitting now with her back to Mrs. Carle- 
 ton, while, so far as Eose was concerned, her face was in 
 the shadow. Consequently Hose could not see its ex 
 pression, as she replied: 
 
 " Nothing probably would have come of it. I imagine
 
 186 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 the Pequot, as you call her, was not more than fourteen, 
 and you know how easily we forget the fancies of that 
 age. She was undoubtedly pleased with the evident ad 
 miration of your handsome brother, and watched anx 
 iously, it may be, for the evenings when, with others of 
 his comrades, he came to the hotel; but a closer acquaint 
 ance would have resulted in her knowing the deception 
 about the name, and after that she would not have cared 
 for him. If he really liked her he would not have im 
 posed upon her thus. She's forgotten him ere this, and 
 is probably a married woman." 
 
 " Perhaps so," Eose replied; " I wish I knew. Jimmie 
 didn't mean to deceive her long. He took the name 
 Dick Lee, partly in sport, and partly because he didn't 
 wish his teacher to know how often Jim Carleton was at 
 the Pequot House, when he thought him somewhere else. 
 After he began to like her, and saw how pure and good 
 and truthful she was, he hated to tell her, but had made 
 up his mind to do so when mother took him away." 
 
 " He might have written," Annie said, " and she may 
 have been silly enough to cry over his abrupt and unex 
 plained departure." 
 
 " Mother wouldn't let him write," Hose rejoined, laugh 
 ingly. "She watched him closely, and got Tom inter 
 ested too. Poor Jiinmie, I wonder if that girl ever 
 thinks of him now ?" 
 
 " She may, but I dare say she is glad your mother 
 took him home. She has outlived all that fancy," and 
 Annie's white fingers, on one of which the wedding-ring 
 was shining, worked nervously together. 
 
 As if bent on tormenting both her auditors by talking 
 of Jimmie, Eose kept on, wondering how he looked, if 
 she should know him, what he would say, how he would 
 act, and if he ever would come.
 
 NEWS DIRECT FROM JIMMIK 187 
 
 "I'm so glad you are here, Annie," she said, "for you 
 do everybody good you come in contact with, and I want 
 you to talk to Jimmie, will you ?" 
 
 Annie only smiled, but her cheeks burned with excite 
 ment, and Rose was about asking if her head didn't 
 ache, when a letter was brought in bearing the Wash 
 ington postmark. Eagerly Rose broke it open, scream 
 ing with joy as she read that Jimmie had been released, 
 had taken the oath of allegiance, and was coming home 
 to Rockland. 
 
 " He'll be here, let me see, Thursday, on the three 
 o'clock train. That's to-morrow. Oh, I'm so glad !" 
 and in her delight the little lady forgot that for the last 
 week she had been playing sick, and leaping upon the 
 carpet, danced about the room, kissing alternately her 
 mother and Annie, and asking if they were ever so 
 pleased in their lives. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot !" she suddenly exclaimed, as she saw 
 the great tears dropping from Annie's eyes, and guessed 
 of what she was thinking. "I did not mean to make 
 you sorry contrasting Jimmie's coming home with that 
 of poor George. Dear Annie, don't cry," and the chubby 
 arms closed coaxingly round the now sobbing Annie's 
 neck. "Don't cry. You'll like Jimmie, I know, and if 
 you don't, I know you'll like dear Tom. He's perfectly 
 splendid, and he gave his place to George, you know." 
 
 Yes, Annie knew, but it only made her tears flow fas 
 ter as she thought of Rose, so full of hope, her husband 
 yet alive, and her brothers coming home, while she, 
 without a friend on whom she could lean, was alone in 
 her desolate widowhood. Excusing herself from the 
 room, she sought her own pleasant chamber, and there 
 alone poured out her grief into the ear of One who al 
 most since she could remember had been the recipient
 
 188 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 of all her sorrows. And Annie had far more need of 
 help than Rose suspected. She could not stay there and 
 meet Jimtnie Carleton face to face after what she had 
 heard, while a return to the lonely cottage seemed im 
 possible. Widow Simms's home suggested itself to her 
 mind; but if the prisoners were exchanged, and Isaac 
 came home, she might be an intruder there, and besides, 
 what truthful reason could she give to Rose for her strange 
 conduct ? It was a sad dilemma in which Annie found 
 herself so suddenly placed, and more than an hour of 
 solitary and prayerful reflection, found her still uncer 
 tain as to the course duty would dictate in the present 
 emergency. It seemed expedient that she should go 
 away, and when in the evening she joined Rose, who 
 chanced to be alone, she suggested leaving her house, at 
 least during Jimmie's stay, and going either to the cot 
 tage in the Hollow, or to stay with Widow Simms. 
 
 In the utmost astonishment Rose listened to the pro 
 posal, and then replied: 
 
 " You go away because Jimmie is coming ! Preposter 
 ous ! Why, I want you here on his account, if nothing 
 more. Besides, where will you go ? Widow Simms 
 has taken Susan to live with her at John's request, and 
 that little teenty place will not begin to hold three women 
 with hoops !" 
 
 "You forget the widow does not wear them," Annie 
 suggested, her heart beginning to sink, notwithstanding 
 her playful words. 
 
 " Yes, I know," Rose replied ; " but you are not going 
 there. If you are in the way here with Jirnmie, you'd 
 surely be more in the way there with Isaac. Don't you 
 see?" and Rose looked as if this argument were alto 
 gether conclusive.
 
 NEWS DIRECT FROM JIMMIE. 189 
 
 " I can go home," Annie said, faintly. " The cottage 
 is mine till the first of April." 
 
 Rose colored, and hesitated somewhat, as if a little 
 uncertain how what she had to say on this subject might 
 be received; then, resolving to put a bold face upon it, 
 she said: 
 
 " I ought to have told you before, I suppose. Don't 
 you remember the day you had the sick headache, more 
 than a week ago ? Well, while you were asleep, a man 
 came to know if you'd let him into the cottage till spring, 
 as he was obliged to leave where he was, and could find 
 no other place. I did not wish to wake you, and as I 
 knew you would not care, I said yes on my own respon 
 sibility, and sent Bridget down to pack all your things 
 in the chamber, as he only wanted the lower rooms. 
 She put them away real carefully, Bridget did, for I've 
 been myself to see," Rose added, quickly, as she saw the 
 color mounting to Annie's cheeks, and feared she might 
 be indignant at the liberty. 
 
 " And is he there ?" Annie asked, conquering all emo 
 tion, and speaking in her natural tone. 
 
 "Yes, he's there," Rose answered. "You are not 
 angry, are you ? He's a nice man, and so is his wife." 
 
 " I am not angry," Annie replied, " but more sorry 
 than I can express, though, had I been consulted, I 
 should undoubtedly have done as you did." 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad, for it has bothered me a heap, won 
 dering what you'd say !" Rose cried, throwing her arms 
 around Annie's neck. "And now you'll stay with us, 
 for you see you have nowhere else to go ; shan't she, 
 mother ?" and she appealed to Mrs. Carleton, who had 
 just come in. 
 
 " Of course Mrs. Graham will stay," was Mrs. Carle- 
 ton's reply; for, during the few days of her sojourn at
 
 190 ROSE JIATHEK. 
 
 Eockland, she had become greatly interested in the 
 sweet young Annie, and already foresaw the benefit she 
 would be to Rose, who needed some such influence to 
 keep her in check. 
 
 Mrs. Carleton was proud, and at first her daughter's grow 
 ing intimacy with the wife of a mechanic had given her 
 pride a pang, but a closer acquaintance had dispelled the 
 foolish prejudice, for she saw in the gentle Annie unmis 
 takable marks of education and refinement, while she was 
 not insensible to the charm thrown round the beautiful 
 ' stranger by the lovely Christian character which shone 
 so brightly now in the dark hour of affliction. Coming 
 nearer to her, and laying her hand in a motherly way 
 upon her pale brown hair, she said: 
 
 " We all want you, Mrs. Graham, and as Eose, by an 
 act which I will admit was too presuming, has virtually 
 closed your own doors against you, I see no alternative 
 but for you to stay with us. Eose needs you, and as 
 she says, you may do Jimmie good, while Tom, if he ever 
 comes, will be glad to meet the wife of one in whom he 
 was greatly interested." 
 
 After this, Annie offered no further remonstrance, 
 though in her heart she hoped Jiinmie's residence in 
 Eockland would not be very long. Of Tom she had no 
 dread. She rather wished to see him than otherwise, 
 for he had been kind to George, and in fancy she had 
 enshrined him as a middle-aged, greyish-haired man, 
 stooping a little, perhaps, and withal very fatherly and 
 venerable in his appearance ! This was Tom, but Jim 
 mie, handsome, saucy-eyed, mischievous Jimmie, putting 
 angle worms in Eose's bosom, and frightening the little 
 Pequot with a mud-turtle, found on New London beach, 
 was a very different thing, and though trusting much to
 
 THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER'S WEMCOME. 191 
 
 the lapse of years and change of name, Annie shrank 
 nervously from the dreaded to-morrow, which was to 
 bring the Eebel home. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 |OSE had fretted herself into a headache, and as 
 Mrs. Carleton could not think of meeting her 
 returning prodigal in the presence of strangers, 
 there was no one to go up to meet him unless Annie 
 should consent to do so ! But greatly to Rose's disap 
 pointment Annie obstinately refused, while Mrs. Carle- 
 ton, too, said it would not be proper for Mrs. Graham to 
 go alone and meet a stranger whom she had never seen. 
 "Couldn't she tell him she was Annie, my adopted 
 sister?" Rose said, half poutingly. "What will he 
 think when he finds nobody there but Jake, who, I verily 
 believe, looks upon him as half a savage for having joined 
 the Southern army ? I heard him, myself, tell Bridget 
 that Ben Arnold was coming to-day, meaning that horrid 
 traitor that gave up Yorktown, or something," and hav 
 ing thus betrayed her ignorance of Revolutionary his 
 tory, Rose bathed her aching head in eau- de-cologne, 
 and lay back upon her pillows, wondering what Jimmie 
 would say, and how he would manage to brave the gap 
 ing people who were sure to stare at him as if he were 
 some monster. She hoped there would not be many 
 there, and of course there wouldn't, for who knew or 
 cared for Jimmie's coming ?
 
 192 EOSE MATHER 
 
 More cared for Jimmie's coming than Rose suspect 
 ed, and the streets were full of men and boys of a 
 certain class, hastening to the depot to see the Rebel, as 
 they 'persisted in calling him, in spite of Billy Baker's 
 repeated suggestions that they soften it down somewhat 
 by prefixing the word " reformed." Bill was very busy, 
 very important, very consequential that day, and quite 
 inclined to be very patronizing, and do the agreeable to 
 the man he had captured at Manassas. "Folks or'to 
 overlook him," he said, " and treat him half way decent, 
 for the best was apt to stumble, and there should neither 
 be hootin' nor hissin', if he could help it." 
 
 Indeed, so impressed was Bill with the idea that the 
 responsibility of Jimmie's reception was pending upon 
 himself, that he deliberately knocked down two of the 
 ringleaders, who announced their intention to hoot and 
 to hiss as much as they pleased. Bill's warlike propensi 
 ties were pretty generally understood in Rockland, and 
 this energetic demonstration had the effect of quelling, 
 to a certain extent, the Babel which would otherwise 
 have reigned, when at last the train stopped before 
 the depot, and the expected lion appeared upon the 
 platform, his identity proven by Bill, who whispered, 
 "That's him, with the rowdy hat, that's the chap;" 
 then, with a proud air of self-assurance, he stepped for 
 ward and offered his hand to the embarrassed stranger, 
 who was looking this way and that, in quest of a familiar 
 face. 
 
 " Halloo, Corporal !" he called out with the utmost 
 sangfroid, " you re-cog-mze me, I s'pose. I'm the critter 
 that took you in the Virginny woods. I've gin all them 
 contrabands to your sister, Miss Marthers. She and I 
 has got .to be considerable intimate. I think a sight on 
 her," he continued, as Jimmie showed no signs of recip-
 
 TEE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER'S WELCOME. 193 
 
 rocating the coarse familiarity other than by rather 
 haughtily offering his hand. 
 
 But Bill was not to be put down, for " wasn't he as 
 good as Corporal Carleton ? hadn't they sustained to 
 each other the relation of captor and captive, and if there 
 were any preference, wasn't it in his favor ?" He thought* 
 so, and nothing abashed by Jimmie's evident disgust, he 
 was about announcing to him that a carriage was in 
 waiting, when Jake made his way through the crowd to 
 the spot where Jimmie stood. The sight of him sug 
 gested a new idea to Bill, and bowing first to one and 
 then to the other, he said, "Ah, Mr. Jacob Sullivan, al 
 low me to introduce you to my friend, Corporal Carleton, 
 late of the Confederate army, supposed to be fitin' for 
 just such goods and chattels as you." 
 
 The African's teeth were plainly visible at this novel 
 introduction, while the good-humored smile which broke 
 over the hitherto cold, haughty features of the stranger, 
 changed into a general laugh the muttered groans and 
 imprecations which the words " Confederate Army," had 
 provoked. It was strange what a difference that smile 
 made in the looks of Jimmie's handsome face, removing 
 its haughty, sarcastic expression, and softening to a great 
 extent the feelings of the crowd, many of whom instinc 
 tively dropped the brick-bats, stones, and bits of frozen 
 mud, with which they were prepared to pelt the Rebel's 
 carriage so soon as they should be in the rear. Still 
 they must have some fun, even if it were at Bill's expense, 
 and just as the latter was button-holing the persecuted 
 Jimmie, and escorting him to the carriage, one, more 
 daring than the others, proposed " three groans and a 
 tiger for the deserter." 
 
 Instantly, hats, caps, and fists were flourished aloft, 
 and the air resounded with the most direful sounds im-
 
 194: BOSE MATHER. 
 
 aginable, as groan after groan came heaving up from the 
 leathern lungs of the crowd. With a fierce gesture of 
 impatience Jimmie turned upon them, his black eyes 
 flashing fire at what he deemed an insult offered to him 
 self. Whatever his faults had been, desertion was nofc 
 among the number, and he was about to say so, when 
 Bill, with imperturbable gravity, whispered to him, 
 " They don't mean you now, Corporal. It's me they're 
 hittin* a dig. You see, I did leave Washington in a 
 hurry. Don't mind 'em an atom; they're the off- 
 scourin's of the town," and having piloted Jimmie safe 
 ly to the carriage door, Bill took off his own cap, and 
 swinging it around his head, shouted aloud, " Three 
 cheers for Corporal Carleton !" 
 
 For an instant there was a silence, the crowd a little 
 uncertain as to how far their loyalty might be impeache.d 
 by cheering for a Rebel ; but when the dark, handsome 
 face, with its winning smile, was again turned toward 
 them, and they saw in it a strong resemblance to the 
 patriotic little lady whom even the lowest of them had 
 learned to regard with respect, their doubts were given 
 to the winds, and the ringleader, who carried in his 
 pocket a quantity of questionable eggs, designed for 
 use as the occasion might require, led off the cheers, 
 making the depot ring with the loud huzzas, interlarded 
 here and there by a groan or hiss from those not yet 
 won over to the popular party. 
 
 Lifting his hat gracefully, Jimmie bowed an acknow 
 ledgment, and his lips moved as if about to speak, while 
 cries of "Hear, hear!" "Give us a speech!" "Let's 
 have your politics !" ran through the excited throng. 
 Standing close to Jimmie, who would fain have dispensed 
 with his suggestive presence, Bill whispered in his ear, 
 " Let *&r slide, Cop'ral. Go in strong for Uncle Sam, if
 
 THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER'S WELCOME. 195 
 
 you don't want this new coat of yourn sp'ilt. There 
 ain't a rotten hen's nest in town but what was robbed 
 this mornin' on your account, and if they once git fairly 
 to work, it'll take mor'n me and Mr. Sullivan to stop 
 'em! Pitch in, then, to your sarmon." 
 
 Jimmie's natural disposition prompted him to brave 
 the purloined contents of Rockland's hen's nests, but he 
 would not endanger his sister's carriage, and besides that, 
 he felt that submission to people so infinitely beneath 
 him was a part of his merited punishment; so, forcing 
 down his pride, he in a few well-chosen words, told his 
 breathless audience that though he had once proved 
 faithless to his country, none regretted it more than 
 himself, or was now a firmer friend to the Stars and 
 Stripes, the brief speech ending with the proposal of 
 three cheers for the Star Spangled Banner. 
 
 In a trice the whole crowd responded with might and 
 main, prolonging their yells with the cries of " Carleton ! 
 Carleton forever!" and promises to make him police 
 justice in the spring, should he want to run for that very 
 agreeable office ! 
 
 "Couldn't of done much better myself," said the de 
 lighted Bill, hovering about the window of the carriage 
 in which Jimmie had now taken his seat. 
 
 Thoroughly tired of the scene, Jimmie intimated to 
 Jake his wish to go home, and the iron greys sprang 
 quickly forward, but not until Jimmie had caught Bill's 
 parting words, " Call round and see a feller, won't you ? 
 ' I'll show you the old gal. You know you asked me 
 about her in the Virginny woods." 
 
 It seemed like a new world to Jimmie when, after they 
 had left the noisy crowd, they turned into the pleasant, 
 quiet street which wound up the hill to where the hand-
 
 196 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 some Matlier mansion stood, every blind thrown back 
 and wreaths of smoke curling gracefully from every chim 
 ney, for Hose, wishing to do something in honor of her 
 brother's return, had ordered the whole house to be 
 opened as if for a holiday, while every flower which could 
 possibly be spared from her conservatory, had been 
 broken from its stem, and fashioned into bouquets by 
 Annie's tasteful hands. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be splendid," Rose said, as she lay watch 
 ing Annie at her task, " wouldn't it be splendid to hang 
 the Stars and Stripes in festoons across the hall, where 
 Jimmie will pass under them ?" 
 
 Annie did not think it would. In her opinion Jim 
 mie was not deserving of such honor, and she said so, as 
 delicately as possible, adding that " were it Tom it would 
 be a very different thing." 
 
 Rose knew that Annie was right, and so the Stars and 
 Stripes were not brought out to welcome the young man 
 now rapidly approaching. Annie was the first to catch 
 the sound of the carriage wheels, and when Rose turned 
 to ask if she really supposed Jimmie was there, she 
 found herself alone. 
 
 " She's gone to meet him, of course," she said, " but I 
 most wish she had staid here, for I wanted to introduce 
 her myself. I hope she won't dislike him." 
 
 Meantime in the parlor below, Mrs. Carleton sat wait 
 ing for her boy, not as Spartan mothers were wont to 
 wait for their sons returning from the war, but with a 
 yearning tenderness for the loved prodigal, blended with 
 loyal indignation for his sin. He was not coming to her 
 as a hero who had done what he could for his country, 
 but with a traitor's stain upon his fair name, which she 
 would gladly have wiped out. She heard the carriage as 
 it stopped, and heard the step on the piazza, not rapid
 
 THE CONFEDEKATE SOLDIER'S WELCOME- 197 
 
 and bounding as it used to be, but slow and heavy, as if 
 uncertain which way to turn. 
 
 " I must go out to meet him," she said, but all her 
 strength forsook her, and sinking upon the sofa, she 
 could .only call out faintly, " Jimmie, my boy." 
 
 He heard her, and almost before the words had left her 
 lips her Jimmie boy was kneeling at her feet, with his face 
 buried for an instant in her lap; then, with one burning 
 kiss upon her forehead, the proud James Carleton, who 
 in his early boyhood was scarcely ever known to acknow 
 ledge that he was wrong, asked to be forgiven and 
 restored again to the confidence and love he had for 
 feited, and with her hand upon his bowed head, the 
 mother forgave her boy, bidding him look up, that she 
 might see again the face she had once thought so hand 
 some. It was tear-stained now, and worn, and Mrs. 
 Carleton sighed as she detected upon it unmistakable 
 marks of reckless dissipation. Still it was Jimmie's face, 
 and it grew each moment more natural as the flush of 
 excitement deepened on the cheeks, and lent an added 
 brightness to the saucy, laughing eyes. The lines upon the 
 forehead and about the mouth would wear away in time, 
 Mrs. Carleton hoped, and parting the soft, black curls 
 clustering around the broad, white brow, she told him 
 why Hose was not there to meet him, and asked if he 
 would go up then to see her. 
 
 Rose heard them coming, and at the sound of the 
 familiar voice calling her name, the tears flowed in tor 
 rents, and with her face buried in her pillows she re 
 ceived her brother's first embrace. Very gently he 
 lifted up her head, and taking in his the little hot hands, 
 kissed again and again her childish face, and wiping her 
 tears away, asked, half seriously, half playfully, " if they 
 met in peace or war ?"
 
 198 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 " Oh, in peace, in peace !" Eose answered, and wind 
 ing her arms around his neck, she hugged and cried over 
 him, asking why he had been so naughty, when he knew 
 how badly they would feel, and why he had not inter 
 fered to save poor Tom from a prisoner's fate. 
 
 He explained to her how that was impossible, but for 
 his treachery he had no excuse ; he could only answer 
 that he was sorry, and ask again to be forgiven. 
 
 "I do not now believe the South all wrong" he said. 
 " Many of them sincerely think they are fighting for their 
 firesides; others hardly know what they are fighting for; 
 while others again are impressed into the army and can 
 not help themselves. As for me, I would gladly blot out 
 the past, for which I have no apology; but as that can 
 not be, I- would rather talk as little of it as possible. 
 Try, Rose, to forget that you ever had a rebel brother. 
 Will you?" 
 
 Rose's kisses were a sufficient answer. She was too 
 happy just then to remember aught save that he had al 
 ways been the dearest brother imaginable; besides that 
 Annie taught that we must forgive as we would be for 
 given. Annie bore no ill will toward the South. She 
 prayed for them as well as for the North, and cried most 
 as hard over the sick, suffering soldiers captured by our 
 army as over our own prisoners, and if she could forgive, 
 Rose surely ought to do so too. 
 
 "You have not seen Annie yet," she said; "she ran 
 away the moment she knew you had come. I thought 
 she might be going to meet you, but it seems she did 
 not. You must love her a heap, and I know you will. 
 She's so beautiful La her mourning, and bears her trou 
 ble so sweetly. I wish everybody was as good as Annie 
 Graham. She has never been heard to say one bitter
 
 THE CCXNTEDERATE SOLDIER'S WELCOME 199 
 
 thing against the South. She only pities and prays, 
 and says they are misguided." 
 
 "And pray, who is this paragon of excellence that I 
 must love a heap?" Jimmie asked, when Rose had ex 
 hausted the list of Annie's virtues, and paused for a little 
 breath. 
 
 "Who was she? Hadn't he heard of Annie? Had 
 Witt failed to tell him of her adopted sister?" Rose 
 asked in some astonishment. 
 
 Will had proved remiss in that one particular duty, 
 and never, until this moment, had Jimmie heard that 
 Rose had an adopted sister; and if Rose, why not him 
 self ? Wasn't he Rose's brother ? 
 
 "Certainly you are," Rose replied; "but I'm not sure 
 Annie will let you call her sister, because you're, you're, 
 well, you see, Annie is real good, and, as I told 
 you, prays, just as hard for Southern soldiers as for ours, 
 that is, prays that they may be Christians, and that their 
 sick and wounded may be kindly cared for, but of course 
 she wants us to beat, and knows we shall, but I guess 
 she does not think of you just as she does of Tom, 
 though she never saw either. She would not go up to 
 the depot to meet you, and I wanted her to so much. 
 She said, too, it was not good taste, or something like 
 that, to hang out our banner on a Rebel's account, and 
 she acts so funny generally about your coming home 
 that I hope you'll do your best to be agreeable, and 
 make her like you. Will you Jimmie ?" and Rose looked 
 up at her brother in such a comical, serious way, that he 
 laughed aloud, promising to do his best to remove all 
 prejudice from Miss Graham's mind, and asking who she 
 was and where she came from." 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know where she came from," Rose 
 replied, a little uncertain how to grapple with the Carle-
 
 200 ROSE MATHER 
 
 ton pride, which existed in Jimmie as well as the rest ot 
 them. " She's a lady, as any one can see, and possessed of 
 as much refinement as we often find in Boston. She 
 can't help it, Jimmie, if she is poor. It don't hurt her 
 one bit, and I'm getting over those foolish notions 
 cherished by our set at home. "Will says she came of a 
 good family and might have married a millionnaire, old 
 enough to be her father, but she wouldn't. She pre 
 ferred a mechanic, George Graham, the most splendid 
 looking man you ever saw. He's dead now, poor fellow. 
 Will took care of him, and brought him home; that's 
 why Annie lives with me." 
 
 Rose's explanations were not the plainest that could 
 have been given, but Jimmie extracted from the medley 
 of facts a very prominent one. It was not a Miss but a 
 Mrs., to whom he was to be agreeable. It had not 
 seemed a very unpleasant duty to change a beautiful 
 young girl's opinion of himself, but a Mrs. was a very 
 different affair, and for the first time since his arrival his 
 old, merry, half-sarcastic laugh rang through the room, 
 as with a mocking whistle, he said, 
 
 "A widow, hey ! How many children does she boast?" 
 
 "Not a single bit of a one," Rose answered, feeling 
 that Jimmie had said something very bad of Annie. 
 
 He saw it in her countenance, and hastened to make 
 amends by asking numberless questions about Annie, 
 whose history from the time of Rose's first acquaintance 
 with her up to the present hour, he managed at last to 
 get, the result being that he was not as much interested 
 in the Widow Graham, as he mischievously called her, 
 as he might have been in Miss Annie. The easily dis 
 heartened Rose gave him up as in corrigible, and men 
 tally hoping Tom would not prove as refractory as Jim 
 mie had done, she turned the conversation upon Will,
 
 THE CONFEDERATE SOIDIEU'g WELCOME. 201 
 
 whose goodness she extolled until the supper bell rang 
 and Jimmie arose to leave her for a time, as she was not 
 prepared to go down that night and do the honors of 
 the table. 
 
 The gas was lighted in the dining-room, and the heavy 
 damask curtains were dropped before the long French 
 windows. A cheerful coal fire was blazing on the mar 
 ble hearth, while the table, with its snowy linen, its 
 china, silver and cut glass, presented a most inviting 
 appearance, making Jimmie feel more at home than he 
 had through all the long years of his voluntary exile 
 from the parental roof. 
 
 " This is nice," he said, with a pleasant feeling of sat 
 isfaction not unmingled with a certain degree of self-re 
 proach, which whispered that after what had passed he 
 was hardly worthy to be the recipient of so much lux 
 ury. 
 
 Thoughts like these were about shaping themselves 
 into words, when he caught sight of a figure he had not 
 before observed, and became aware that he was not alone 
 with his mother, as he at first supposed. It was a deli 
 cate little figure, not as -petite as his sister's but quite as 
 graceful, with its sloping shoulders and rounded waist, 
 almost too small to suit the theorems of a Wafer Cure, 
 but looking vastly well to Jimmie, whose first thought 
 was that he could span it with his hands. Around the 
 well shaped head the heavy bands of pale brown hair 
 were coiled, forming a large square knot which, falling 
 low "upon the neck, gave to the figure a more girlish ap 
 pearance than Jimmie had expected to find in his sister's 
 protegee, the Widow Graham. He knew it was Annie, by 
 the mourning robe fitting so closely around the slender 
 
 9*
 
 202 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 throat, and for an instant he wished she were not there, 
 as he preferred being alone with his mother. But one 
 glance at the sweet face turned toward him as Mrs. Carle- 
 ton repeated his name, dispelled all such desires, and 
 with a strange sensation, which he attributed to pleasant 
 disappointment, he took the soft, white hand which 
 Annie extended toward him. It was a very small, a very 
 pretty hand, and trembled perceptibly as it lay in Jim- 
 mie's broader, warmer one, while on the pale cheek there 
 was a deep, rich bloom, which Mrs. Carleton herself had 
 never observed before. 
 
 " I have heard of Mrs. Graham from my sister," Jim- 
 mie said, bowing to her with his usual gallantry, while 
 Annie tried to stammer out some reply, making a miser 
 able failure, and leaving on Jimmie's mind the impres 
 sion that she was prejudiced against him, and so would 
 not welcome him home. 
 
 A dozen times in the course of the supper Jimmie as 
 sured himself that he did not care what was the opinion 
 held of him by such as Annie Graham, while he as often 
 changed his mind and knew that he did care, wondering 
 what it was about her face which puzzled him so much. 
 She looked a little like Tom's wife, Mary, he thought, 
 that is, as Mary had looked just before her departure for 
 Charleston, when she bade him good bye, whispering to 
 him timidly of a world where she hoped to meet again 
 the friends she loved so well. And as, whenever he 
 thought of Mary, he felt that her angel presence was 
 around him still, he now felt that another angel spirit 
 looked out at him from the soft eyes of blue raised to his 
 so seldom, -arid when raised withdrawn so quickly. 
 What did she think of him? He would have given 
 something to have known, but he was far from suspect 
 ing the truth or guessing what Annie felt, as the saw
 
 THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIEK's WELCOME. 203 
 
 upon his face the lines of dissipation, and thought of the 
 debasing scenes through which he must have passed 
 since the days of auld lang syne, when, with the little 
 Pequot of New London, he sat upon the rocks and 
 watched the tide come in, telling her how, on the mor 
 row night, his own fanciful little boat, named for her, 
 should bear them across the placid waters of the bay to 
 where the green hill lay sleeping in the summer moon 
 light. The Pequot's reply had been that the morrow 
 was the Sabbath, and not even the pleasure of a sail with 
 him could tempt her to steal God's time, and appropri 
 ate it to such a purpose. He had called her a little Pu 
 ritan then, asking where she learned so strict a creed, 
 and adding, " but I half believe you're right, and if I'd 
 known you sooner I should have been a better boy;" 
 then kissing her blushing cheek, he had led her from 
 the rocks over which the waves were breaking now, and 
 that was the last the Pequot ever saw of him. There 
 was no sail upon the bay, no more watching for the ebb 
 and flow of the evening tide, no walks on the long piazza, 
 or strolls upon the beach, nothing but news one night 
 that the handsome, saucy-eyed boy was gone to his home 
 in Boston, leaving no message or word of explanation 
 for her, the little Pequot, whose step was slower for a 
 few days, and whose headache was not feigned, as the 
 harsh aunt said it was, when she refused to join the rev 
 ellers in the parlor, and dance with the grey-haired man, 
 four times her age, who sought her for his partner. 
 They had not met since then till now, and Annie strug 
 gled hard to keep back the tears as she remembered all 
 that had come to her since that summer at New London 
 remembered the childish fancy which died out so fast, 
 and the later love which crowned her early girlhood, 
 finding its full fruition at the marriage altar, and twin-
 
 204 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 iiig itself so closely around the fibres of lier heart, that 
 when it was torn away, it left them sore and bleeding 
 with pain at every pore. 
 
 Surely, with this sad experience, Annie, young and 
 beautiful though she was, could feel for Jimmie Carleton 
 naught save the deference she would have felt for any 
 stranger who came to her as the brother of her patron 
 ess. And still she was conscious of a deeper interest in 
 him than if he had been a perfect stranger, and his pres 
 ence awoke within her an uncomfortable feeling, making 
 her wish more and more that she was away where she 
 would not be obliged to come in daily contact with him. 
 Under these circumstances it is not strange the conversa 
 tion flagged, until for Rose's sake Annie felt compelled 
 to make an effort. Suddenly remembering Isaac Simms, 
 she asked if anything was ever heard at Washington of 
 the Richmond prisoners ? 
 
 "Yes," Oimmie replied; and eager to show his own 
 willingness to talk of the war and the Federal Army, he 
 told how only the day before he left for Rockland, news 
 had come from Tom, saying he was well as could be ex 
 pected, considering his fare, but the boy captured with 
 him would surely die if not soon restored to purer air 
 and better care than those tobacco prisons afforded. 
 
 " Oh, it will kill Mrs. Simms if they should bring 
 him back to her dead," and the hot tears gushed from 
 Annie's eyes as she heard in fancy the muffled drum 
 beating its funeral marches to the grave of another Rock- 
 land volunteer. 
 
 The tears once started could not be repressed, and 
 Mrs. Carleton and Jimmie finished their supper alone, 
 for Annie excused herself, and hastening to her room, 
 poured out her grief in tears and prayers for the poor 
 sick boy, pining in his dreary prison home., while mia-
 
 THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER'S WELCOME. 205 
 
 gled with her tears was a note of thanksgiving that to 
 her had been given the comfort of knowing that the -death 
 pillow of her darling was smoothed with friendly hands, 
 and that no harsh, discordant sounds of prison riot or 
 discipline had disturbed his peaceful dying. 
 
 Meantime Jimmie had returned to his sister, whose 
 first question was for Annie. "What did he think of 
 her? Wasn't she sweet, and hadn't she the prettiest 
 blue eyes he ever saw ?" 
 
 " I hardly saw them, for she is evidently coy of her 
 glances at a Rebel," Jimmie answered, half playfully, half 
 bitterly, for Annie's manner of quiet reserve had piqued 
 him more than he cared to confess, 
 
 "She's bashful," Rose replied; "and then, Jimmie, 
 you can't expect her to forgive you as readily as your 
 own sister, for you know she never saw you till to-night, 
 and she's a true patriot; but say, did you ever see so 
 sweet a face one that made you think so much of an 
 angel?" 
 
 " Bather too pale to suit my taste. I like high color 
 better," and Jimmie pinched Eose's glowing cheek until 
 she screamed for him to stop. 
 
 " It's all going wrong, I know," Eose began, poutingly. 
 "You don't like Annie a bit, and she's so good, too. 
 You can't begin to guess how good. And there's nothing 
 blue about her, either. Why, she's a heap more cheerful 
 than I could be if Will were dead, as George is. I'd die 
 too, I know I should; but Annie's a real Christian, and 
 that does make a difference. It seems to be all through 
 her, and she live^ it every minute, I honestly believe 
 I'm better than before she came. She has actually per 
 suaded me not to get up big dinners on Sunday, as I 
 used to do, but to let all the servants go to church, and 
 every night she goes for half an hour into the kitchen,
 
 206 EOSE MATHEK. 
 
 and teaches old black Phillis how to read the Bible. 
 She's- so truthful, too. Why, she said she presumed that 
 little Pequot. girl would not have liked you any way after 
 she heard that Dick Lee was not your name." 
 
 " The Pequot girl ! How came Mrs. Graham to hear 
 of her ?" Jimmie asked, his face flushing crimson. 
 
 " Oh, I happened to ask mother something about her 
 one day, right before Annie, and so, of course, explained 
 a little. It would noUhave been polite if I hadn't," 
 Hose replied, adding, as she saw her brother's evident 
 chagrin, "you need not mind one bit, for Annie never 
 tells anything." 
 
 It ^was not the fearing she would tell which affected 
 Jinirnie unpleasantly; it was the feeling that he would 
 rather Annie Graham should not know of all his delin 
 quencies, and so despise him accordingly. How unfor 
 tunate it was that she was there, and yet he would not 
 have sent her away if he could, though he did wish she 
 were not so well posted with regard to his affairs, both 
 past and present. What made Rose tell her of the 
 Pequot, and why had the Pequot haunted him ever since 
 he came into that house ? Something had brought her 
 to his mind, and as the servant just then came in, bring 
 ing her mistress's supper, he left his seat by Rose, and 
 walking to the window looked out upon the starry sky, 
 wondering within himself where she was now, the little 
 girl who had sat with him upon the rocks, and told him 
 it was wicked to break God's fourth command. The 
 scene which Annie saw at the supper table was present 
 with him now, remembered, for the first time, since the 
 battle at Bull Run. Then, as he lay waiting for the foe, 
 he had in fancy heard again a sweet, girlish voice, bid 
 ding him keep holy the Sabbath day, and the tear which 
 dropped upon his gun was prompted by the thought of
 
 THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIEIl's WELCOME. 207 
 
 all lie had passed through since the happy school-bo^ 
 days when the Pequot preached to him her gentle 
 sermons. 
 
 In the hall there was a rapid footstep, and Rose called 
 out: 
 
 " Annie, Annie, come here. Why, where are you going 
 to-night?" she continued, in much surprise, as Annie 
 looked in, hooded and shawled as for some expedition. 
 
 " Going to see Mrs. Sirnms. It is not far, you know," 
 was Annie's answer, and the door closed after her in 
 time to prevent her hearing Hose's reply. 
 
 " It's dark as pitch, and slippery too. Jimmie, do 
 please see her to the gate, but don't go in, for the widow 
 is awful against Rebels !" 
 
 The next moment Jimmie was half way down the 
 stairs, calling to 'Annie, who held the door-knob in her 
 hand. 
 
 " Mrs. Graham, allow me to be your escort, Rose is 
 not willing you should go out alone." 
 
 " Thank you, I am not at all afraid, and prefer going 
 alone, as Mrs. Simms might not care to meet a stranger," 
 Annie replied, with an air of so much quiet dignity, that 
 Jimmie knew there was no alternative for him save to 
 return to his sister's chamber, which he did, feeling far 
 more crestfallen than he had supposed it possible for 
 him to feel, just because a widow had refused his escort. 
 
 It was wholly owing to the taint of Rebeldom clinging 
 to him, he knew, for he was not accustomed to having 
 his attentions thus slighted by the ladies to whom they 
 were offered, and all unconsciously the manner of reserve 
 which Annie assumed toward him was punishing him for 
 his sin quite as much as anything which had yet occurred, 
 making him feel keenly that by his traitorous act he
 
 2(8 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 had, for a time at least, built a gulf between himself and 
 those whose good opinion was worth the having. 
 
 " Why haven't you gone ?" Rose asked, as he came into 
 the room. " She wouldn't let you ? I don't believe you 
 asked her just as you should. Dear, dear, it's all going 
 wrong between you two, and if Tom don't act any bet 
 ter when he comes home, what shall I do ?" 
 
 " Send Mrs. Graham away," trembled on Jimmie's lips, 
 but knowing, from what he had seen, that so far as Rose 
 was concerned, Annie's tenure at the Mather mansion 
 was stronger than his own, he wisely kept silent, and 
 sitting down by the open grate, he went off into a fit of 
 abstraction, mingled with sad regrets for the past and 
 occasional thoughts of the little white-faced Annie, now 
 essaying to comfort the Widow Simms, who had extorted 
 from her the intelligence brought by Jimmie of her boy, 
 and who, with her hard hands covering her face, was 
 weeping bitterly, and sobbing amid her tears, 
 
 " My poor, poor boy ! It's the same to me now as* if 
 he was dead. I'll never see him any more. Oh, Isaac, 
 my darling !" 
 
 CHAPTER XVIH. 
 
 THE EICHMOND CAPTIVES. 
 
 OW close, and dirty, and terrible it was on that 
 third floor of the dingy tobacco house, where 
 Isaac, as a private, was first confined, and as the 
 summer days glided by and the August sun came pour 
 ing into the great, disorderly room, how the young boy 
 panted and pined for a breath of sweet, pure air, such as 
 swept over the far-off Eastern hills, and how full of wist-
 
 THE RICHMOND CAPTIVES. 209 
 
 fill yearning were the glances he cast toward the grated 
 windows, seeking to catch glimpses of the busy world 
 without, in which he could not mingle. Not very near 
 those windows did he dare approach, for more than one 
 had already paid the penalty of such transgression, and 
 in his dreams, Isaac saw yet the white death agony which 
 stole over the face of the Fire Zouave shot by the in 
 human guard while looking from the window. 
 
 No wonder that the homesick boy grew sadder, wea 
 rier each day amid such horrors as these, praying, some 
 times, that he might die, even though he must be buried 
 far from the quiet Rockland churchyard, where the cy 
 press and the willow were growing so green and fair, 
 and where a mother could sometimes come and weep 
 over her soldier boy's grave. It would matter little 
 where he slept, he thought, or what indignities were 
 heaped upon his lifeless form, for his soul could not be 
 touched; that would be safe with Him, whom Isaac, in 
 his captivity, had found to be indeed the Friend which 
 sticketh closer than a brother. The Saviour, honored 
 ' since early childhood, did not desert the captive,* and 
 this it was which made him strong to bear, through the 
 long summer days, during which there came to him no 
 tidings of his home, and his eye was greeted with no 
 sight of a familiar face, for Captain Carleton was yet an 
 inmate of the hospital. Neither did any friendly message 
 come to tell he was remembered by the man whose for 
 tunes he had voluntarily shared, when he might, perhaps, 
 have escaped, for though Tom thought often of the gen 
 erous lad, and sent to him many a word of comfort, 
 through mistake or negligence only one brief message 
 had ever reached its destination, and so forsaken by 
 every human aid, poor Isaac looked to Heaven for help,
 
 210 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 finding there a peace which kept his heart from break 
 ing-. 
 
 But as the summer days glided into September, and 
 the heat grew more and more intense, until at last Sep 
 tember, too, was gone, and the Virginia woods were blazing 
 in the light of the October sun, and still there was no 
 token of relief, oh ! who, save those who have felt it, can 
 tell of the loneliness, the dreary despair, which crept into 
 the captive's soul, driving out all hope, and making life 
 as it existed in those walls a burden, which would be 
 gladly shaken off. How Isaac paled and drooped as the 
 weary hours stole on ; how he loathed the sickening 
 food; and how at night he shuddered with horror, and 
 shrank away from the vermin -covered floor, his only pil 
 low unless h>e substituted the coat, now scarcely less 
 filthy than its surroundings ! As Tom wrote to the New 
 Hampshire woman, Mrs. Simms would scarcely have re 
 cognized her son in the haggard, emaciated boy, who, 
 on one October afternoon, sat crouching in his corner, 
 grasping the little Testament given by the Rockland 
 ladies, and repeating its precious truths to the poor, 
 sick, worn-out youth, whose head lay on his lap, and 
 whose eyes, blistered with homesick tears, were fastened 
 with a kind of hungry wistfulness upon the girlish face 
 above him, the face of Isaac Simms, pointing the dying 
 soldier to the only source of life. It was thus Tom 
 Carleton found him, Tom, just released from the hospi 
 tal, and transferred to the first floor of that dark prison. 
 
 With Tom it had fared better, for Yankee-like in his 
 precautions, he had gone into the battle with a quantity 
 of gold fastened securely around his person, and gold has 
 a mighty power to unlock the hardest heart. As a com 
 missioned officer, and a man of wealth and rank, many 
 privileges were accorded to him which were denied the
 
 THE RICHMOND CAPTIVES. 211 
 
 common soldiers, and his first act after entering the 
 tobacco house was to seek out his late companion and 
 ask after his welfare. He did not know him at first, 
 though directed to that locality as the one where the 
 "Preacher" would probably be found. He could not 
 think he had ever seen either of these famished, misera 
 ble looking creatures, but touched by the impressive 
 scene, he stood a moment listening, while Isaac read, 
 
 " I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man c6m- 
 eth to the Father but by me." 
 
 " Yes, but how shall I go to Him ? "Where is He ?" the 
 sick boy asked, and bending lower, Isaac answered : 
 
 " He's here. He's standing close by you. He hears 
 all I say. He knows you want him, and he will not cast 
 you off, for he has said he wouldn't. Only believe, and 
 take him at his word, that's all." 
 
 There was an evident lifting up of both souls to God, 
 and Tom felt that even in that horrid place, there were 
 angels dwelling. He knew now that one was Isaac, and 
 the great tears rolled down his cheeks as he saw the 
 fearful change wrought in little more than two short 
 months. 
 
 "Isaac," he said, softly, "Isaac, my boy, don't you 
 know me ?" 
 
 Not till then had Isaac observed the tall figure stand 
 ing near, but at the sound of the well-remembered voice 
 he looked quickly up, and putting gently from him the 
 head of his comrade, sprang to his feet with a scream of 
 joy, and threw himself into the open arms of Tom, who 
 held and soothed him, while he sobbed out his delight. 
 
 " Oh, Captain Carleton !" he cried, his body quivering 
 with emotion, "I am so glad! I thought you had, I 
 didn't know, Oh, why haven't jpu come before, I'm so 
 sick, so sick and tired, that I almost want to die ! Will
 
 12 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 we ever be exchanged; have they forgotten us at Wash 
 ington ? Shall we never go home again ?" 
 
 These were questions which more than one poor captive 
 had asked, and which none could answer. Torn, how 
 ever, did the best he could, and hushing Isaac as he 
 would have hushed and quieted a grieving child, he spoke 
 to him many a word of comfort, promising to care for 
 him as for a younger brother, and speaking of various 
 ways in which his forlorn condition should be bettered, 
 now that he was an inmate of the same prison. It was a 
 blissful interview, and its good effects were seen in the 
 brightness of Isaac's face, and the cheerful smile which 
 played around his mouth, even after Tom had gone to 
 his quarters below. 
 
 Softer than downy pillow seemed the hard bare floor, 
 that night, as with his arm thrown round his invalid 
 friend, Isaac lay dreaming of the frost-tipped trees at 
 home, and the brown nuts ripening on the hill, where 
 he, perhaps, might pick them yet, for Tom had given 
 some encouragement that an exchange would ere long be 
 effected, and as each believed his own name would be upon 
 the list, so Isaac hoped his would, and in slumber's fitful 
 fancy he was at home again, and saw his mother come 
 softly in to tuck the bed-clothes round him, or see if he 
 were sleeping, just as she used to do. How still he lay 
 to make her think he was asleep ! How real seemed the 
 vision, how life-like the kiss pressed upon his lips, and 
 the tear-drop that came with it ! In a corner of the 
 room there were groans and imprecations, and with a 
 nervous start the dreamer woke to find it all a horrid de 
 lusion.. That stifling, fetid atmosphere had in it no odor 
 of Kockland's healthful breezes, and the star, shining on 
 him through the iron bars, though familiar to him, was 
 not the same which he used to watch from the window,
 
 THE RICHMOND CAPTIVES. 213 
 
 beneath the eaves, facing to the north. No home, no 
 mother, no soft feathery pillow for his head, or blanket 
 for his body nothing but that feverish hand still upon 
 his forehead, and that tear on his cheek, for these were 
 real, and the sick soldier at his side, who gave the kiss 
 and tear, was whispering in his ear, that the way so 
 tearfully sought was' found at last; that the gloomy, des 
 olate prison was like the gates of Paradise, and death 
 disarmed of all its terror. 
 
 " If mother could only know it," he said," I should be 
 so glad, and you'll tell her, won't you, when you get home 
 again ? Tell her it wasn't very hard to die, even in this 
 dingy hole; that Heaven and Jesus are as near to me 
 here on the floor, as if I were lying on my own bed at 
 home, with her standing by. Tell her I'm glad I fought 
 for the Stars and Stripes, but sorry I ran away without 
 her consent, for I did. I got out on the wood-shed roof, 
 and so came off unseen. She's prayed for me every day 
 and every night, and God has heard her prayers. He 
 sent you here to lead me in the way, and after I am gone, 
 he'll let you go back again." 
 
 There were a few more whispered words on either 
 side, and then the exhausted but happy youth fell away 
 to sleep, while Isaac wept with thankfulness that his 
 confinement there had not been all in vain. 
 
 Faithful to his promise, Tom, as far as was possible, 
 alleviated the hardships so long and so meekly borne by 
 Isaac, and with his gold bought many a delicacy for 
 Isaac's end, the poor, sick Massachusetts boy, who, 
 one night ere the physician had fairly decided that he 
 was in need of medical care, laid his head on Isaac's lap, 
 as he was wont to do, and with another whispered mes 
 sage for the mother far away, and another assurance of
 
 214 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 perfect peace, went where the wicked cease from troub 
 ling, and the weary are at rest ! 
 
 While he lived there had been something to take 
 Isaac's mind something to excite his sympathy, and in 
 ministering to Henry's wants, he had more than half 
 forgotten his own, but now that he was gone, and the 
 corner where he had sat or lain was empty, Isaac, too, 
 faded rapidly, and not all Tom's efforts had power to 
 save him from the apathy which came stealing over him 
 so fast. Touched with pity at his forlorn, dejected ap 
 pearance, his comrades made him a little bed in the cor 
 ner where the dead boy had been, and there all the day 
 long he lay, rarely noticing any one except Tom Carle- 
 ton, who came often to his side, and whose own warm 
 blanket formed the pillow for his head. From the first 
 floor to the third there was not one who was not more or 
 less interested in the pale invalid, bearing his pain so 
 patiently, never complaining, never repining, but thank 
 ing those about him for any kindness rendered with such 
 childlike, touching sweetness, that even the rough jailer 
 regarded him with favor, and paused sometimes to speak 
 to him a word of encouragement. 
 
 In this state of feeling it was not a difficult matter for 
 Tom to obtain permission for Isaac to be removed from 
 the dirty corner above to his own comparatively comfort 
 able cot in the officers' apartments below. But this did 
 not effect a cure. Nothing could do that save a sight of 
 home and mother. 
 
 " Could I see her," Isaac said one day, " or even stand 
 again beneath the Federal Flag, I might get better, but 
 here I shall surely die, and if I do, oh, Captain Carleton, 
 you'll get them to send me home, won't you? I 
 don't care for myself where I am buried, but my mother, 
 it would break her heart to hear I was put with the
 
 THE RICHMOND CAPTIVES. 215 
 
 negroes. She's a rough woman, and folks who don't 
 know her much, thinks she's cross and queer, but she's 
 been so good to me, and I love her so much ! Oh, mother, 
 mother, I wish she was here now," and the sick boy 
 turned his white face to the wall, sobbing out choking 
 sobs which seemed to come from the lowest depths of 
 his heart. 
 
 Cries for home and mother were not uncommon in that 
 prison-house, but there was something so piteous in his 
 child-like wail that other officers than Tom bent over 
 the poor lad, trying to comfort him by telling of an ex 
 change which, it was hoped would ere long be effected, 
 and by painting happy pictures of the glad rejoicing 
 which would greet the returning captives. For an in 
 stant the great tears, dropping so fast from Isaac's lids, 
 were staid in their course, and a smile of hope shone on 
 his pallid face, but quickly passed away as he suggested, 
 
 " Yes, but who knows if / will be on the list ?" 
 
 No one could tell him that. All would not go, they 
 knew, and they could only wait patiently, each hoping 
 he would be the favored one. At last there came a day, 
 never to be forgotten by the inmates of that tobacco 
 house, a day on which was read the names of those who 
 were to be released and breathe again the air of freedom. 
 Oh, how anxiously the sick boy listened as one after 
 another was called. " Captain Thomas Carleton " Was 
 among the number, and a deep flush stole to the young 
 man's face as uncertainty was thus made sure. He was 
 going home, and like waves upon the beach, the throbs 
 of joy beat around his heart, making him glad as a little 
 child when returning to its mother after a long separa 
 tion. 
 
 But oh, who shall tell Isaac's emotions as name after 
 name was called, and none that sounded like his.
 
 216 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 Would they never reach it, never say Isaac Simms ? 
 Could it be he was not there ? Larger and thicker grew 
 the drops of sweat, quivering about his mouth, and stand 
 ing upon his forehead. Whiter, more death-like grew his 
 face; heavier, sadder, more mournful the eyes, fixed so 
 wistfully upon the caller of that roll, growing less so fast. 
 There could not be many more, and the head drooped 
 upon the heaving bosom, with a discouraged, disheart 
 ened feeling, just as the last was read, not his, not Isaac 
 Simms. He was not there, and with a moan, which smote 
 painfully on Tom's ear, the disappointed boy turned 
 away, and wept bitterly, while his pale lips moved feebly 
 with the prayer for help he essayed to make. To be left 
 there alone, with no kind Captain Carleton to soothe the 
 weary hours, to be returned, most likely, to the noisy 
 floor above, to die some night when nobody knew or 
 cared, it was terrible, and Widow Simms would have 
 shrieked in. anguish could she have seen the look of des 
 pair settling down on her darling's face. 
 
 But though she did not see it, there was one who did, 
 and guessing at the thoughts which prompted it, he 
 walked away to be alone, and gather strength for the 
 sacrifice he must make. Tom Carleton could not desert 
 the boy who had clung so faithfully to him, and as Isaac 
 had once staid by him in the Virginia woods, when he 
 might have gone away, so he now would stay with Isaac. 
 Still it was hard to give up going home, and for a mo 
 ment he felt as if he could not. There was a fierce 
 struggle between duty and inclination, a mighty combat 
 between Tom's selfishness and his better nature, and 
 then the latter conquered. He must stay. It would not 
 be difficult to find some person to take his place clan 
 destinely, for already were the unfortunate ones seeking 
 to buy such chances, and offering every possible induce-
 
 THE EICHMOND CAPTIVES. 217 
 
 merit to any who would accept. A young lieutenant 
 about his age and appearance, and whose wife and child 
 were suffering from his absence, was the one selected by 
 Tom as his substitute, and the matter soon arranged. 
 Then, with a forced cheerfulness he did not feel, Tom 
 wont back to Isaac, who was still weeping silently on his 
 couch, and whispering to an unseen presence, " You'll 
 never leave me, will you ? and when I die you'll take me 
 up to Heaven ?" 
 
 Here was a faith, a trust, to which Tom Carleton was 
 a stranger, and wishing himself more like that sick boy, 
 he bent over the cot, and said cheerily, 
 
 " Isaac, are you asleep ?" 
 
 In the tone of his voice there was something so kind 
 and sympathetic, that Isaac started up, and winding his 
 feeble arms around Tom's neck, sobbed out, 
 
 "Forgive me, Captain Carleton; I'm glad you are go 
 ing home, but I wasn't at first; the bad, hard lumps kept 
 rising in my throat as I thought of staying here alone 
 without you, but they're gone now. I prayed them all 
 away, and I am glad you are going. I shall miss you 
 dreadfully, but God vrLi Dot forsake me. And, Captain 
 Carleton, if you ever do, see my, my " 
 
 Isaac's voice was choked with tears, and he could not 
 at first articulate that dear word, but soon recovering, he 
 went on "see my mother, you'll tell her about me. 
 Tell her everything except how I've suffered. That 
 would do no good 'twould only make her cry, and 
 when she hears, as she maybe will, that I am dead, tell 
 I wasn't afraid, for the Saviour was with me. I'd rather 
 you shouldn't say good-bye at the last. It would make 
 me feel so bad, only sometime before you go I want to 
 tell you how much I love you for your goodness, and to 
 
 ask you to be a ' 
 
 10
 
 218 liOSE MATHEE. 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, for Tom knew what he 
 would say, and wiping both sweat and tears from off the 
 worn face, looking so lovingly at him, he answered, " I 
 will try to be a better man. I never felt the need of it so 
 much till I came here, and Isaac, I am going to stay 
 till you, too, are exchanged. Did you think I would 
 desert the boy who, but for me, would not have been a 
 prisoner ?" 
 
 Isaac did not reply; only the soft, blue eyes lighted up 
 with sudden, eager joy ; the lips trembled as if they 
 would speak, there was a perceptible shudder, and then 
 Tom held in his arms a fainting, unconscious form. The 
 revulsion of feeling was too great, and for many minutes 
 Isaac gave no sign of life, but when at last he was re 
 stored again, he tried to dissuade Tom from making so 
 great a sacrifice, but all in vain. Tom silenced every 
 objection, and when the 3d of January came, and pris 
 oners were released, another than Tom Carleton answer 
 ed to his name, and marched from Richmond in his 
 stead. 
 
 Tom had once spent several months in Richmond, and 
 in the higher circles he numben u many personal friends, 
 who, until quite recently, were ignorant of the fact that 
 he was a prisoner in their midst. Of these the more 
 loyal to the new Confederacy ignored him entirely. 
 Others, remembering his genial humor, and quiet, gen 
 tlemanly manner which had won their admiration for 
 the elegant Bostonian and his gentle wife, threw their 
 prejudice aside, and respecting him because he had stood 
 iirmly by his own State, visited him in his prison, while 
 others sent playful messages that though they denounced 
 him as an intruder upon their rights, they owned him as a 
 friend, and would gladly ameliorate his condition. To 
 these acquaintance it was soon known how great a sacri-
 
 THE RICHMOND CAPTIVES. 219 
 
 fice Tom had made for the sake of a young boy, and the 
 result was a gradual abatement of the surveillance held 
 over Tom, while many privileges hitherto denied by the 
 strict jail discipline, were accorded to him. Isaac, too, 
 was benefited through him, and more than one fair lady 
 visited the invalid, growing strangely interested in the 
 gentle " Yankee boy," and bringing many a delicacy 
 with which to tempt his capricious appetite. But no 
 amount of kindness could win him back to health so 
 long as he breathed the atmosphere of prison walls. To 
 go home was all he desired, and day after day the flesh 
 shrivelled from his bones, and the blue veins stood out 
 round and full upon his wasted hands until there came a 
 night when the physician told the jailer, whom he met 
 upon the stairs, that "the Yankee boy was dying." 
 
 There were not many now in prison, and ere long the 
 sad news was known throughout the building, causing 
 the riotous on*es to hush their noisy revels, and tread 
 softly across the uncovered floor, lest they should dis 
 turb the sufferer below. The jailer, too, remembering 
 his own son, afar in Southern Tennessee, wiped a tear 
 from his rough face, and drew nearer to the humble cot 
 where Tom sat watching the panting and seemingly dy 
 ing boy. There were moments of feverish delirium, 
 when the prison, with its surrounding horrors, faded 
 away, and Isaac was at home, bathing his burning brow 
 with the snow covering the Northern hills, or talking to 
 his mother of all that had transpired since the April 
 1 morning when, followed by her prayers and tears, he left 
 her for the battle. Then, reason came back again, as clear 
 as ever, and with Tom Carleton's hand pressed between 
 his own he dictated what Tom should say to the mother 
 when he went back to her alone and left her boy behind. 
 
 " I shall never go home any more," he said, " and I've
 
 220 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 built such bright castles about it, too, fancying how nice 
 it would seem to lie on mother's soft, warm bed, and 
 watch the sun shining through the windows, or the grass 
 springing by the door. The snow will melfc from the 
 garden before long, and the flowers I used to tend come 
 up again, but I shan't be there to see them. I shall be ' 
 lying here so quiet and *o still that I shall not even hear 
 the cannon's roar, or the loud huzzahs when peace is at 
 last declared, and the cruel war is ended. Oh, if all the 
 dead ones could know, it would be something worth 
 fighting for, but when the troops ar'e marching home, 
 and the bells ring out a welcome, there'll be many a one 
 missing in the ranks, and almost every graveyard, both 
 North and South, will hold a soldier's grave, but you 
 will not forget us, will you ?" and the sunken eyes turned 
 pleadingly on Tom. " When the bonfires are kindled at 
 the North, and the glad rejoicings are made, you will 
 think of the poor boys who fought and 'died that you 
 might enjoy just such a holiday ?" 
 
 Torn could only answer by pressing the thin hands he 
 held, and Isaac continued: 
 
 " Tell mother not to fret too much for me. I guess 
 she did love me best, because I was the youngest, but 
 Eli and John will comfort her old age. Tell them, too, 
 how much I love them, and how proud I was of them 
 that day at Bull Run. They used to plague me some 
 times, and call me a girl baby, but I've forgiven that, for 
 I know they did not mean it. I hope they'll both be 
 spared. It would kill mother to lose us all. Tell her 
 how I bless her for the lessons of my childhood, the 
 prayers said at her knee before I knew their meaning, 
 the Sunday School she sent me to, and the Bible stories 
 told in the winter twilight. Tell her I was not afraid to 
 die, only I wanted her so much, but everybody's been
 
 THE KICHMOND CAPTIVES. 221 
 
 good. There are kind folks here in Richmond, and God 
 will bless them for it. Oh, Captain Carleton, I'm a poor, 
 ignorant boy, and you a proud, rich man, but you will 
 heed me, won't you, and when I'm gone, you'll take my 
 little Testament and read it every day. Read it first for 
 Isaac's sake, but it won't be long before you'll read it for 
 its precious truths, and you will come to Heaven where 
 we can meet again promise, won't you?" 
 
 There was a moment's silence, during which" Tom 
 choked down the tears he could scarcely suppress, so 
 strongly this scene reminded him of another, when he 
 sat by Mary's side, and heard her dying voice urging 
 him to meet her. Four years the Southern sun had 
 shone upon her grave, and he had made no preparation 
 yet, but now he would put it off no longer, and bending 
 over Isaac, he replied: 
 
 "I promise; and if you see my darling in the better 
 land, tell her, God helping me, I'll find my way to where 
 she has gone." 
 
 The white lips feebly murmured their thanks, and then 
 suddenly asked: 
 
 " Do you think mother's got the letter you sent, and 
 knows how sick I am ? If so, she's praying for me now, 
 and maybe her prayers will save. I'm not afraid to die, 
 but if I could go home to Rockland first, it would not 
 seem so bad. Pray, mother, pray pray, pray hard," and 
 too much exhausted to talk longer, the half-delirious boy 
 turned upon the pillow furnished by some kind lady, and 
 fell into a heavy sleep, from which the physician said he 
 would never waken. 
 
 Midnight in Richmond, and Tom, counting off the 
 strokes, bent lower to watch for the expected change.
 
 222 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 There was no color in the parted lips, and about the 
 nose there was a pinched, contracted look, which Tom 
 remembered to have seen in Mary's face, when by her 
 bedside he had sat, just as he sat by Isaac's, but where 
 Mary's hands were cold and dry Isaac's were moist and 
 warm, while the rapid pulses were not as wiry, and irregu 
 lar as hers had been. There was hope, and falling on his 
 knees, Tom Carleton asked that the life almost gone out 
 might be restored, and promised that if it were he would 
 not forget this lesson as he had forgotten the one learned 
 by Mary's death-bed. He would be a better man, he 
 said, and God, as he sometimes does, took him at his 
 word. Gradually the sharp expression passed away, the 
 hair grew damp with a more healthful moisture, the 
 pulses were slower, the breathing more regular, and when 
 a last the heavy slumber was broken, and Isaac looked up 
 again, Tom knew that he would live. 
 
 There was a murmured prayer of thanksgiving, a re 
 newal of his pledge, and then he bent every energy to 
 sustain the life coming so slowly back. Softly the 
 morning broke over the prison walls, and they who had 
 expected to look on Isaac dead, rejoiced to hear that he 
 was better. 
 
 " It may be I shall see mother yet," he whispered, 
 faintly, when Tom told him that the dreaded crisis was 
 past ; " and if I do, I'll tell her of your kindness." 
 
 "Would you like very much to go home to your 
 mother ?" Tom asked, and with a quivering lip and chin 
 Isaac answered: 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes, if I only could ! I was willing to die, 
 but I guess we all cling to life at the last, don't you ?" 
 
 Tom did not reply to this, but spoke instead of a rum or 
 that all were soon to be discharged and sent back to 
 Washington.
 
 TOM'S RECEPTION. 223 
 
 " "Well go together, then," he said, " you and I, for I 
 shall visit Rockland first and see my sister Rose." 
 
 The prospect of release was meat and drink for Isaac, 
 who rallied so fast that when the joyful news of an ex 
 change did come, he was able, with Tom's help, to walk 
 across the floor of what had been his home so long. 
 
 Haggard, wasted, weary, and worn were those pris 
 oners as they filed down the stairs and out into the 
 streets, but with each moment which brought them nearer 
 home, their spirits rose, and when at last they stood again 
 on Federal soil and saw the Stars and Stripes waving in 
 the morning breeze, long and deafening were the huzzas 
 which rent the air as one after another gave vent to his 
 great joy at finding himself free once more. Isaac, how 
 ever, could neither shout, nor laugh, nor speak, and only 
 the large eyes, brimming with tears, told of joy unutter 
 able, but when arrived at "Washington, his two stalwart 
 brothers took him in their arms, hugging and crying over 
 him as over one come back to them from the grave, his 
 calmness all gave way, and laying his tired head on Eli's 
 bosom, while John held and caressed his wasted hands, 
 he sobbed out the happiness too great to be expressed in 
 words. To him a full discharge from service was readily 
 accorded, while to Tom a furlough of several weeks was 
 given, and after a few days at "Washington both started 
 northward to join the friends waiting so impatiently for 
 their arrival.
 
 224 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 TOM'S K ECEPTION, 
 
 'HE people of Rockland had become somewhat ac 
 customed to the " Rebel lion," as they had play 
 fully called Jimmie Carleton, and the latter could 
 now go quietly through the streets without attracting at 
 tentions which at first had been vastly disagreeable to 
 the sensitive young man. Gradually, as he mingled more 
 with the people, they had learned to like him, and were 
 fast forgetting that he had ever joined the ranks of the 
 foe and struck at his mother country. With the rabble 
 who had met him at the depot on his first arrival at Rock- 
 land he was vastly popular, for forcing down his pride, he 
 had been very conciliatory toward them, and they still ad 
 hered to their olden promise of making him their next 
 police justice, provided he would consent to run. 
 
 With his usual impudence, Bill Baker continued to an 
 noy the proud Bostonian with his good-humored fami 
 liarities, some of which Jimmie permitted, while others 
 he quietly repulsed, for Bill's constant allusions to the 
 past were exceedingly disagreeable, and as far as possi 
 ble he avoided his quondam associate, who, without the 
 least suspicion that his manner was disgusting in the ex 
 treme, would hail him across the street, addressing him 
 always as " Corp'ral," and if strangers were in hearing, 
 'inviting him to "call 'round and see a fellar once in a 
 while for old acquaintance sake." 
 
 At the Mather mansion matters remained about the 
 same as when Jimmie first came home. Mrs. Carleton 
 was still there, waiting for her other son, and Rose, ag
 
 TOM S RECEPTION. 225 
 
 usnal, was ever on the alert, seeking ways and means by 
 which the soldiers might be benefited, compelling Jim- 
 mie to be interested in all her plans, dragging him from 
 place to place, sending him on errands; and once, when 
 in a great hurry to get a box in readiness for the hospitals 
 at Washington, actually coaxing him into helping tie a 
 comfortable, which was put up in her back parlor, and 
 which she " must send immediately, for some poor fellow 
 was sure to need it." " Jimmie could learn to tie as well 
 as herself," she said, when he pleaded his ignorance as an 
 excuse for refusing his services. " She didn't know how 
 once, but Widow Simms and Annie had taught her a 
 heap, and Annie would teach him, too. All he had to do 
 was to put the big darning needle through twice, tie a 
 weaver's knot, cut it off, and the thing was done; besides 
 that, 'twas a real pretty quilt, made from Annie's calico 
 dress, which she used to wear last summer and look so 
 sweetly in. Annie was tying on one side and Jimmie 
 must tie on the other; he needn't be so lazy. He ought 
 to do something for the war." 
 
 By the time Rose had reached the last points in her ar 
 gument, Jimmie had closed the book he was reading, and 
 concluded that there might be duties required of him a 
 great deal worse than tying a soldier's comfortable with 
 Annie to oversee ! It was strange how much teaching 
 he needed, and how often Annie was called to the rescue. 
 The needle would stick so in the cotton, and he could 
 ncft remember just how to tie that knot. So Annie, nev 
 er dreaming that he knew how to tie the knot as well as 
 she, would come to his aid, her hands sometimes touch 
 ing his, and his black curls occasionally brushing her pale, 
 brown braids as he bent over her to see how she did it, 
 so as to know himself next time ! There was a world of 
 mischief in Jimmie's saucy eyes as he demurely apolo-
 
 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 gized to Mrs. Graham for the trouble he was giving her, but 
 Annie never once looked up, neither did the color deepen 
 in the least upon her cheek, and when Jimmie, on pur 
 pose to draw her out, suggested that "he was more 
 bother than help," she answered that he "had better re 
 turn to his reading, as she could get on quite as well 
 alone." 
 
 After this, Jimmie thought proper to learn a little 
 faster, and soon outstripped his teacher, who rewarded 
 him with no word of approval save a cool " Thank you," 
 when the comfortable was done and taken from the 
 awkward frames. And this was a fair specimen of the 
 nature of the intercourse existing between Jimmie and 
 Annie. Secure now in the belief that she would never 
 be recognized as the " Pequot of New London," Annie 
 regarded Jimmie as any ordinary stranger, in whom she 
 had no particular interest, save that which her kind 
 heart prompted her to feel for all mankind. She could 
 not dislike him, and she always defended him from the 
 aspersions of the widow, who could not quite conquer 
 her repugnance to a Kebel, and who frequently gave 
 vent to her ill-will toward Jimmie, whom she thought so 
 proud. 
 
 " Stuck-up critter !" she said, " struttin' round as if 
 he was good as anybody, and feelin' above his betters. 
 Of course he felt above her, and Susan, and Annie, she 
 knew he did; and if she's Annie she vummed if she'd 
 stay there, and be looked at as Jim looked at her." 
 
 Although making due allowance for the widow's pre 
 judice, these remarks were not without their effect upon 
 Annie, who, imperceptibly to herself, began to feel that 
 probably Jimmie did regard her as merely a poor de 
 pendent on his sister's bounty, and she unconsciously as 
 sumed toward him a cool reserved manner, which led him
 
 TOM'S RECEPTION. 227 
 
 to fancy that she entertained for him a deep-rooted pre 
 judice on account of his past error. Twenty times a 
 day he said to himself he did not care what she thought 
 of him, and as many times a day he knew he dad care 
 much more than was at all conducive to his peace of 
 mind. Where this caring might end he never stopped 
 to consider. He only felt now that he respected the 
 Quaker-like Annie more than he ever respected a woman 
 before, and coveted her good opinion more earnestly than 
 he ever remembered to have coveted anything in his 
 life, unless, indeed, it were his freedom when a prisoner 
 in Bill Baker's power. 
 
 In this state of affairs it required ah 1 Rose's tact to 
 sustain anything like sociability between her brother 
 and Annie, and the little lady was perfectly delighted 
 when the joyful tidings was received that Tom was com 
 ing home. Annie would like Tom, for everybody did ; be 
 sides, Tom had written as if he were almost a good man 
 himself, and Annie was sure to be pleased with that; they, 
 at least, would be fast friends; and secure on this point, 
 Hose, with her usual impulsiveness, plunged into the pre 
 parations for Tom's reception . Even Annie did not think 
 any reasonable honor too great for him, particularly after 
 Isaac wrote from Washington to his mother,' telling her of 
 Tom's generous sacrifice, and how he might have been home 
 long before if he had not chosen to stay and care for a 
 poor, sick boy. How the widow's heart warmed toward 
 the Carletons, taking the whole family into its hitherto 
 rather limited dimensions. Even Jimmie was not ex 
 cluded, the widow admitting to Mrs. Baker, between 
 whom and herself there had been many a hot discussion 
 touching the so-called Rebel, that when he laughed, 
 ' he was uncommon handsome for a Secession er," and
 
 228 ROSE MA.THER. 
 
 she presumed that " at the bottom he was as good they 
 would average." 
 
 But if the widow were thus affected by Tom's kind 
 act, how much more were the mother and sister pleased 
 to know how noble and good he was, while Annie, amid 
 the tears she could not repress, said to Rose, 
 
 " You should be proud of such a brother ! There are 
 few like him, I am sure !" 
 
 How Jimmie envied Tom, as he heard, on all sides, 
 praises for his noble unselfishness, and the resolution 
 to welcome him and Isaac with military honors. Once 
 more in Ms element, Bill Baker industrioiisly drilled 
 his clique, who were to answer no earthly purpose save 
 to swell the throng and prolong the deafening cheers. 
 Bill began to feel related to the Carletons, and regularly 
 each day he called at the Mather mansion to keep Rose 
 posted with regard to the progress of affairs. They were 
 to bring out the new gun, he said, and as it was minus a 
 name, the villagers had concluded to call it the " Thomas 
 Carleton" asking "how she thought the 'Square would 
 like it, and how many times it ought to be fired. The 
 band would serenade Tom in the evening," he said, 
 " and ive shall have bonfires kindled in the streets," talk 
 ing as if instead of being merely cannon-tender, he were 
 head manager of the whole, and that all the responsibil 
 ity was resting on himself. Rose understood him per 
 fectly, and with the utmost good nature listened to his 
 suggestions, and scolded Jimmie for calling him her 
 prime minister and confidant. 
 
 From the cupola of the Mather mansion the Stars and 
 Stripes were to be hung out, and on the morning of Tom's 
 expected arrival, Jimmie and Annie climbed the winding 
 stairs and fastened the staff securely to its place. There 
 were tears in Annie's eyes as the graceful folds shook
 
 TOM'S RECEPTION. 229 
 
 themselves to the breeze, for she remembered the com 
 ing of another soldier when this same banner was wrapped 
 around a coffin. Across the valley and beyond the con 
 fines of the village she could see where that coffin with 
 its loved inmate was buried, and as the past came rush 
 ing over her, she suddenly gave way, and sitting down 
 beneath the flag wept bitterly, while Jimmie, with a 
 vague idea as to what might have caused her tears, stood 
 looking at her, wishing he could comfort her. But 
 what should he say ? As yet they had scarcely passed 
 the bounds of the most scrupulous politeness to each 
 other, and for him to attempt to comfort her seemed 
 preposterous, while to leave her without a word, seemed 
 equally unkind. Perhaps it was the beautiful glossy 
 braids of hair which brought him at last to a decision, 
 causing him to lay his hand involuntarily upon the bowed 
 head, while he said: 
 
 " I am sorry for you, Mrs. Graham, for I know how 
 much the contrast between my brother's return and that 
 of your husband must affect you, and gladly would I 
 spare you the pain, if I could. I am not certain but the 
 good people of Bockland, in their intended kindness to 
 Tom, are doing you an injury, and surely Lieutenant 
 Graham, having been a resident of this place, should 
 receive their first thought with all pertaining to him." 
 
 There was no mistaking the genuine sympathy which 
 thrilled in every tone of Jimmie's voice, and for a mo 
 ment Annie wept more passionately than before. It was 
 the first time he had ever spoken to her of her husband, 
 tind his words touched a responsive chord at once. 
 
 " It is not that so much," she answered, at last. " I 
 am glad they are honoring your brother thus; he richly 
 deserves it for his noble adherence to his country in her 
 hour of peril, and for his generous treatment of pooi
 
 230 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 Isaac Simms. I would do much myself to show him my 
 respect; but oh, George, George, lam so desolate without 
 him !" and covering her face with her hands, Annie wept 
 again, more piteously than before. 
 
 Here was a point which Jimmie could not touch, and 
 an awkward silence ensued, broken at last by Annie, 
 who, resuming her usual calm demeanor, frankly offered 
 Jimmie her hand, saying: 
 
 "I thank you, Mr. Carleton, for your sympathy. It 
 has made me believe you are my friend, and as such I 
 would rather consider you." 
 
 " Your friend ! Did you ever deem me other than 
 that?" Jimmie replied in some surprise, involuntarily 
 pressing the little hand which only for an instant rested 
 in his, and then was quietly withdrawn just as Rose from 
 the foot of the stairs called out to know " what they 
 were doing up there so long." 
 
 It was strange how differently Jimmie felt after this 
 incident, and how fast his spirits rose. The few words 
 said to him by Annie up in his sister's cupola had made 
 him very happy, for he felt that a better understanding 
 existed between himself and Annie, that she did not so 
 thoroughly despise him as he had at first supposed, and 
 that the winning her respect was not a hopeless task. 
 
 As early as two the crowd began to gather in the 
 streets, and half an hour later Rose's carriage, with Jim 
 mie in it, was on its way to the depot. Mrs. Carleton 
 did not care to go, and so Rose, too, remained at home, 
 and mounting to the cupola, watched for the first wreath 
 of smoke which should herald the approach of the train. 
 
 "I see it, he's coming!" she screamed, as a feathery 
 mist was discernible over the distant plains, and in a few 
 moments more the cars swept round the curve, while a
 
 TOMS RECEPTION. 231 
 
 booming gun told that Bill Baker was. faithful to hia 
 duty. 
 
 There was a swaying to and fro of the throng at the 
 depot, a pushing each other aside, a trilling of fife, a 
 beating of drums, and then a deafening shout went up as 
 Torn Carleton and John Simms appeared upon the plat 
 form, carefully supporting the tottering steps of the 
 weak, excited boy, who stood between them. At sight 
 of Isaac, there was a momentary hush, and then, with a 
 shriek such as a tigress might give when it saw its young 
 in danger, the Widow Simms rushed frantically forward, 
 and catching the light form of her child in her arms, 
 tried to bear him through the crowd, but her strength 
 was insufficient, and she would have fallen had not Jim- 
 mie relieved her of her burden, which he sustained with 
 one hand, while the other was extended to welcome the 
 stranger who came near. 
 
 Half bewildered, Tom looked around upon the multi 
 tude, asking in a whisper what it meant. He could not 
 think they had come to welcome him, and when assured 
 by Jimmie that such was the fact, his lip quivered for an 
 instant, and his tongue refused its office. Then, in a few 
 well-chosen words, he thanked the people for the unde 
 served surprise, so far as he was himself concerned. Isaac 
 was more worthy of such welcome, he said, and more than 
 half of it was meant, he knew, for their townsman, who 
 had shown himself equally brave in camp, in battle, and 
 in prison, while, had they known that Lieutenant Simms, 
 too, was coming, he was sure they would not have 
 thought of him a stranger to them all. 
 
 The brief speech ended, and Rose, listening- at home, 
 clapped her hands in ecstasy as she heard the terrific 
 cheers and caught the name of " Carleton " mingled with 
 " Isaac Simms."
 
 232 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 "Poor boy !". phe said, " I wonder how he'll get home ? 
 1 wish I had told Jimmie to drive that way, and take 
 him in the carriage." 
 
 She need have given herself no uneasiness, for what 
 she had forgotten was remembered by Jimmie, who, 
 after a hurried consultation with Tom, insisted that both 
 Isaac and his mother should take seats in the carriage, 
 while he and Tom mingled with the crowd. 
 
 " And your other son, there's room for him," he said, 
 looking round in quest of John, who, at the last moment, 
 had obtained permission to visit his bride, and so came 
 on with Isaac. 
 
 At a glance his eye had singled out Susan, and the 
 young couple were now standing apart from the rest, ex 
 changing mutual caresses, and words of love, the tall 
 lieutenant kissing fondly the blushing girl who could 
 not realize that she stood in the presence of her hus 
 band. After a little it was decided that Tom and Jim 
 mie, Mrs. Simms and Isaac, should occupy the carriage, 
 while John and Susan walked, and so from her lofty 
 stand-point, Rose watched the long procession winding 
 down the streets, amid the strains of music and the can 
 non's bellowing roar. It was very exciting to Isaac, and 
 by the time the cottage was reached he was glad to be 
 lifted out by Jimmie, who bore the tired boy tenderly 
 into the house and laid him down on the soft, warm bed 
 he had dreamed about so many nights in the dark, filthy 
 prison corner. How faint and weak he was, and how 
 glad to be home again! Winding his arms around his 
 mother's neck, he sobbed out his great joy, saying amid 
 his tears, " God was so kind to let me come back to 
 you." 
 
 It was a very happy group the villagers left behind in
 
 TOM'S RECEPTION. 233 
 
 that humble cottage, and neither John nor Susan thought 
 it out of place when the mother called on them to kneel 
 with her and thank the Giver of all good for his great 
 mercy in granting them this blessing. 
 
 Meantime the procession passed on until it reached 
 the Mather mansion, where, with three cheers for Cap 
 tain Carleton, the crowd dispersed, leaving Tom at lib 
 erty to join the mother and sister waiting so impatiently 
 for him, one on the steps, and the other in the parlor, 
 just where she had welcomed Jimmie. 
 
 " If Witt were only here, it would be the happiest day 
 I ever knew," Rose said, as, seating herself on Tom's knee 
 with her chubby arm around his neck, she asked him 
 numerous questions concerning her absent husband. 
 Then, as she saw in him signs of weariness she said, " You 
 are tired, I know. " Suppose you go to your room till din 
 ner-time. It's the one right at the head of the stairs," 
 she continued, and glad of an opportunity to rest, Tom 
 went to the room where Annie Graham just then chanced 
 to bo. She had discovered that the servant had neglected 
 to supply the rack with towels, and so she had brought them 
 herself, lingering a moment after they were arranged, to 
 see if everything were in order. She did not hear Tom's 
 step, until he opened the door upon her, and uttered an 
 exclamation of surprise and apology. He had no idea 
 who the little black robed figure was, for though he knew 
 the wife of George Graham was an inmate of his sister's 
 family, he had her in his mind as a very different person 
 from this one before him. Mrs. Graham was young, he 
 supposed, and possibly good looking, but she did not 
 bear the stamp of refinement and elegance which this 
 graceful creature did, and fancying he had made a mis 
 take and stumbled into the apartment of some city visi-
 
 234 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 tor, he was about to withdraw, when Annie came toward 
 him, saying: 
 
 " Excuse me, sir, I came in to see that all was right in 
 your room. Mr. Carleton, I presume ?" 
 
 This last Annie spoke doubtingly, for in the tall, hand 
 some stranger before her there was scarcely a vestige of 
 the " greyish haired, oldish, fatherly-looking man " she 
 had in fancy known as Captain Carleton, and but for the 
 eyes, so much like Mrs. Mather's, and the unmistakable 
 Carleton curve about the mouth, she would never have 
 dreamed that it was Tom to whom she was speaking. As 
 it was, she waited for him to confirm her suspicions, 
 which he did by bowing in the affirmative to her interro 
 gation, " Mr.' Carleton, I presume ?" 
 
 Then holding the door for her to pass out, he stood 
 watching her till she disappeared at the extreme end of 
 the hall, wondering who she was, and why a mere visitor 
 should take so much interest in his room. Once he 
 thought of Annie Graham ; but this could not be a wid 
 ow, though the deep mourning dress told of recent be 
 reavement. Still Annie Graham was a different person 
 age, he knew; and thus perplexed, Tom, instead of rest 
 ing, commenced his toilet for dinner, determining, as soon 
 as it was completed, to go down and have the mystery 
 unravelled. 
 
 Restless and impatient to know just what his brother 
 thought of his late treachery to the Federal Hag, Jimmie 
 paced the parlors below until he could wait no longer, 
 and knowing by the sounds which came from the cham 
 ber above, that Tom was not trying to sleep, he finally 
 ran up the stairs, and knocking at the chamber door, was 
 soon closeted with Tom. It was an awkward business 
 to speak of the past, but Jimmie plunged into it at once, 
 stating some reasons which had led him to abjure bis
 
 TOM'S BECEPTION. 235 
 
 ovra government, expressing his contrition for having done 
 so, and ending by saying he hoped Tom, if possible, would 
 forget that he ever had a rebel brother. 
 
 It had taken Tom a long time to recover from the 
 shock of meeting his brother in the Virginia woods, and 
 knowing he was a traitor to his country, but the same 
 generous feeling which led him to refrain from any allu 
 sion to that meeting in the messages sent to his mother 
 and sister from his Richmond prison, now prompted him 
 to treat with kind forbearance the brother whom he had 
 loved and grieved over since the days of his mischievous 
 boyhood. 
 
 " I should have found it very hard to forgive you if 
 you had staid in the Southern army," he said, " but as 
 it is we will never mention the subject again." 
 
 Jimmie knew, by the warm pressure of Tom's hand, that 
 he was forgiven, and with a burden lifted from his mind 
 he was about leaving the room, when Tom, with a pre 
 liminary cough, said: 
 
 " By the way, Jimmie, who has Rose got here, what 
 visitor, I mean ?" and Tom tried to look vastly indiffer 
 ent as he buttoned his vest and hung across it the chaiu 
 made from Mary's hair. 
 
 But the ruse did not succeed. Jimmie knew he had 
 seen Annie, and with a sudden uprising of something un 
 defined he answered in apparent surprise : 
 
 " Visitor ! what visitor I He must have come to-day, 
 then. Where did you see him ?" 
 
 "I saw her in here," Tom replied, and Jimmie laugh 
 ingly rejoined : 
 
 " A pretty place for a her in your quarters ! Pray, what 
 was she like ?" 
 
 " Some like Mary, as she used to be when I first knew 
 her, a little body dressed in black."
 
 236 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 " With large, handsome, blue eyes ?" interrupted Jim- 
 mie, while Tom, without suspecting that his brother's 
 object was to ascertain how closely he had observed the 
 figure in black, replied: 
 
 " Yes, very handsome, dreamy eyes." 
 
 * " And pale, brown curls ?" was the teasing Jiminie's 
 next query, to which Tom quickly responded: 
 
 " Curls, no. The hair was braided in wide plats and 
 twisted around the head, falling low in the neck." 
 
 " Not a very white neck, was it ?" Jimmie continued, 
 with imperturbable gravity. 
 
 " Indeed, it was," Tom said, industriously scraping his 
 thumb nail with his penknife. ""White as snow, or 
 looked so from the contrast with her dress. "Who is 
 she ?" 
 
 " One question more, had she big feet or little, slip 
 pers or boots ?" and this time Jiminie's voice betrayed 
 him. 
 
 Tom knew he was being teased, and bursting into a 
 laugh, he answered: 
 
 "I confess to having observed her closely, but not 
 enough so to tell the size of her slipper. Come now, who 
 is she ? Some lady you spirited away from Secession- 
 dom ? Tell me, you know you've nothing to fear from 
 steady old Tom." 
 
 For an instant the eyes of the two brothers met, with 
 a curious expression in each. Both were conscious of 
 something they were trying to conceal, while a feel 
 ing akin to a pang shot through Jimmie's heart as he 
 thought how much more worthy of Annie Graham's re 
 spect was steady old Tom than a rollicking young scape 
 grace like himself. 
 
 "From your rather minute description I think you 
 must have stumbled upon the Widow Graham," he said.
 
 TOM'S EECEPTIOK 237 
 
 "Rose has taken her up, you know, and as a word of 
 brotherly advice, let me say that if you wish to raise Rose 
 to the seventh heaven you have only to praise her pro 
 tegee. We, that is the widow and I, do not get on very 
 well, for she is a staunch patriot, and until this morning 
 I verily believe she looked on me as a kind of monster. 
 She's a perfect little Puritan, too, and if she stays here 
 long, will make a straight-laced Methodist of Rose, 
 under the garb of an Episcopalian, of course, as she 
 is the strictest kind of a church woman." 
 
 "I shall not esteem her less for that," Tom said, 
 and in rather a perturbed state of mind, as far as 
 the Widow Graham was concerned, he went with Jim- 
 mie to the parlor, half hoping his brother had mischiev 
 ously misled him, and that the stranger would prove after 
 all to be some visitor from Boston. 
 
 But the first object he saw on entering the parlor was 
 the dainty figure in black, standing by the window, and 
 on the third finger of the hand raised to adjust the heavy 
 curtain glittered the wedding ring. Tom knew now that 
 Jimmie had not deceived him, and with a feeling of dis 
 appointment he addressed Mrs. Graham, when introduc 
 ed by Jimmie, making some playful allusion to their hav 
 ing met before, but saying nothing to her then of George, 
 for remembering his own feelings when Mary died, he 
 knew that Annie would not thank him, a stranger, to 
 bring up sad memories of the past by talking of her hus 
 band. Still, in his manner toward her there was some 
 thing which told how he pitied and sympathized with 
 her, and Annie, grateful always for the smallest kindness, 
 threw off her air of quiet reserve and talked with him 
 freely, asking many questions concerning Isaac Simms 
 and the condition of the Richmond prisoners generally. 
 
 " She was going round after dinner to call on Isaac,'
 
 238 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 she incidentally said, whereupon Tom rejoined that wish 
 ing to know how Isaac bore the journey and the excite 
 ment, he had intended going there himself, and would, 
 with her permission, time his visit to suit her conven 
 ience, and so accompany her. 
 
 Instantly Jimmie's black eyes flashed upon Annie a look 
 of inquiry, which brought the bright color to her cheeks, 
 for she knew he was thinking of the night when she had 
 refused his escort, and she felt her present position a rather 
 embarrassing one. Still the circumstances were entirely 
 different. There was a reason why Tom should call on 
 Widow Simms, while with Jimmie there was none, and 
 bowing to Captain Carleton, she replied that " she pre 
 sumed Mrs. Simms would be glad of an opportunity to 
 thank him for his kindness to Isaac, and that, though 
 not in the least afraid to go alone, she had no objection 
 to showing him the way." 
 
 "What! going off the first night, and they are coming 
 to serenade you, too? You must not go, Tom. Shall 
 he, mother ?" cried Rose, who at first had been too busy 
 with her duties as hostess, clearly to comprehend what 
 Tom was saying to Annie. 
 
 " It will look as if you do not appreciate the people's 
 attention," Mrs. Carleton replied, while Jimmie vehement 
 ly protested against the impropriety of the act, and so 
 Tom was compelled to yield, thinking the while that a 
 walk to the Widow Simms' might possibly afford him quite 
 as much satisfaction as staying at home for a serenade. 
 
 "I always surrender to the majority," he said, playful 
 ly, while Jimmie's spirits rose perceptibly, and Annie had 
 never before seen him so witty or gay since he came home 
 from Washington as he was during the dinner. 
 
 It was joy at his brother's return, she thought, never 
 suspecting that Tom's decision had anything to do with
 
 TOM'S INCEPTION. 239 
 
 it, and Jiminie hardly knew himself that it had. He only 
 felt relieved that Tom was not to receive a favor which 
 had once been denied to himself, 'and glad also that An 
 nie was to spend the evening with them. But in this he 
 was mistaken. There was no necessity for Annie's defer 
 ring her visit. The serenade was not for her, and with 
 that nice sense of propriety which prompted her to shrink 
 from anything like intrusion, she felt that on this first 
 night of their reunion, the Carle ton f-amily would rather 
 be alone. This rule would apply also to Mrs. Simms, but 
 Annie knew she was always welcome to the widow, and 
 wishing to see the boy who had led her husband from tho 
 battlefield, she went to her room, and throwing on her 
 cloak and hood, stole quietly down stairs just as Jimmie 
 was crossing the hall. He guessed where she was going, 
 and coming quickly to her side, said, 
 
 " I supposed you had given up that call, but if you per 
 sist in going, it must not be alone, this night of all others, 
 when the streets are likely to be full of men and boys. 
 You accepted my brother's escort, you cannot, of course, 
 refuse mine," and seizing his hat from the hall stand he 
 led her out upon the steps and placed her arm in his with 
 an air of so much authority that Annie had no word to 
 offer in remonstrance. 
 
 It was not a very comfortable walk to either party, or 
 a very sociable one either, but ere it was ended Annie 
 had reason to be glad that she was not alone, for as 
 Jimmie had predicted, the streets were full of men and 
 rboys, following the band up to the Mather Mansion, and 
 as they met group after group of the noisy throng, Annie 
 timidly drew closer to her companion, who pressed more 
 tightly the arm trembling in his own. 
 
 " I am glad you came with me," she said, when at last 
 the friendly gleam of the widow's candle appeared in
 
 240 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 view, " but if you please I think you had better not go in 
 to-night. You are so much a stranger to the family, and 
 Mrs. Simms' boys have* but just returned. John will see 
 me safely home, and I'll excuse you now. You must feel 
 anxious to rejoin your brother." 
 
 But Jimmie was not to be disposed of so easily. He 
 had no intention of entering the house, but he should 
 wait outside, he said, until Annie's visit was over. Annie 
 had no alternative save submission, and parting from 
 Jimmie at the gate, she hurried up the walk and was soon 
 bending over the couch of the sick boy, whose eyes beam 
 ed the welcome his pale lips could scarcely speak. How 
 many questions she had to ask him, and how much he 
 had to tell her of that day when her husband received 
 his fatal wound. Altogether it was a sad interview, and 
 Annie's eyes were nearly blistered with the hot tears she 
 shed while listening to Isaac's touching account of George 
 ere the woods were gained, and Tom Carleton generously 
 gave up his seat to the bleeding man, thereby becoming 
 himself a prisoner. Much, too, was said in praise of Tom, 
 and Annie felt that she could not do too much for one 
 who had shown himself so generous and brave. Talking of 
 Tom reminded her of Jimmie stalking up and down the 
 icy walks, waiting patiently for her, and when at last the 
 music of Tom's serenade had ceased she arose to go, 
 wishing to get away ere the band came there, as she knew 
 they were intending to do. As John arose to accompany 
 her, she had to say that " Jimmie Carleton was waiting 
 for her by the gate." Instantly the sharp eyes of the 
 widow shot at her a curious glance, which brought the 
 hot blood to her cheek, while John and Susan exchanged 
 a smile, the meaning of which she could not fail to under 
 stand. Poor Annie ! How her heart throbbed with pain as 
 she guessed of what they were thinking ! Could they for a
 
 TOM'S RECEPTION. 241 
 
 moment believe her so heartless and cold ? The mere idea 
 made her dizzy and faint, and scarcely articulating her 
 good-night, she hastened out into the cool night air, feel 
 ing half tempted to refuse outright the arm offered 
 for her support. If she only dared tell him to leave her 
 there alone, leave her to flee away through the dark, 
 lonely streets to the still more lonely yard, where on 
 George's grave she could lay herself down and die. But 
 not thus easily could life's heavy burden be shaken off ; 
 she could not lay it down at will, and conquering the 
 emotions which, each time she thought of John "Simms* 
 significant smile, threatened to burst out into a fierce 
 storm of passionate sobs, she apologized for having kept 
 Jimmie waiting so long, and taking his arm left the cot 
 tage gate just as the throng of serenaders turned into that 
 street. Jimmie knew she had been crying, and conjec 
 turing that she had been talking of her husband, he, too, 
 began to speak of George, asking her many questions 
 about him, and repeating many things he had heard in his 
 praise from the Kockland citizens. It seemed strange 
 that this should comfort her, but it did. The hard, bitter 
 feeling insensibly passed away while listening to Jimmie, 
 and by the time the Mather Mansion was reached the 
 tears were dried on Annie's cheeks, and outwardly she 
 was cheerful and patient as ever. 
 
 After that night Rose had no cause for complaint that 
 Jimmie was rude to Annie, or Annie cool toward him, 
 for though Annie talked to him but little, she did not for 
 get the sympathy so delicately manifested for her, and 
 treated him with as much respect as she awarded Tom, 
 who grew each day more and more interested in the 
 black-robed figure, reminding him so much, of his lost 
 Mary. Jimmie knew he did, and watched narrowly for 
 the time when she would know it, too ; but such time 
 11
 
 242 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 did not come, for Annie had no suspicion that either of 
 the brothers regarded her with the shadow of a feeling 
 save that of ordinary friendship. As much of her time 
 as possible was spent with the Widow Simms, and a great 
 part of Isaac's visible improvement was owing to her 
 gentle care and the sunshine of her presence. John's 
 furlough had expired, and now that he was gone, the dis 
 consolate Susan turned to Annie for comfort, while Isaac 
 watched daily for the sound of the little feet coming up 
 the walk, and bringing with them so much happiness to 
 the lonely cottage. 
 
 "I wish you'd stay home more ; we miss you so much, 
 and it's so dismal without you. Mother nods over 
 her knitting, Tom just walks the floor, or reads some 
 stiff Presbyterian book, while Jimmie thrums the piano 
 and teases my kitten awfully," Rose said to Annie one 
 night when the latter came in from a tour of calls, the 
 last of which had been on Mrs. Baker, uow a much hap 
 pier, better woman, than when we first made her ac 
 quaintance. " It's so different when you are here," Hose 
 continued, as Annie came and sat down by her side. 
 " Tom is a heap more entertaining, while Jimmie is not 
 half so mischievous and provoking." 
 
 "I did not supppse my absence could affect your hap 
 piness, or I would certainly have staid with you more," 
 Annie replied ; and Rose continued : 
 
 "Well, it just does, and now that both Tom and Jimmie 
 are going so soon, I shall need you to oversee the things 
 I must get ready for them." 
 
 " Captain Carleton and Jimmie going away soon !" 
 Annie repeated, in some surprise. " Where are they 
 going ? The Captain's furlough has not yet expired." 
 
 " I know it," Rose continued, " but as he is perfectly
 
 TOM'S RECEPTION. 243 
 
 well, he thinks it right to go back, and has fixed on one 
 week from to-day." 
 
 "Yes, but Jimmie. You spoke of his leaving, too," 
 Annie said, and Hose rejoined: 
 
 "Jimmie is going with Tom to join the Federal Army 
 :>n the Potomac, and, as he says, retrieve, if possible, the 
 character he lost by turning traitor once." 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad ! and I like him so much for that !" 
 Annie exclaimed, her white face lighting up with a sud 
 den animation, which made it seem very beautiful to the 
 young man just entering the door. 
 
 " I would brave the cannon's mouth for another look 
 like that," was Jimmie's mental comment as he stepped 
 into the room, and advanced to the ladies' side. " So 
 you are glad I am going ?" he said, half playfully, to An 
 nie, who answered frankly: 
 
 " Yes, very glad. " 
 
 "And won't you miss me a bit? Folks like to be 
 missed, you know, if they are ever so bad. It makes one 
 think better of himself, and consequently do better if he 
 knows that his absence will cause a feeling of regret, how 
 ever slight, to the friends left behind," Jimmie remarked, 
 while in his eyes there was a peculiar expression which 
 Annie failed to see, as he stood looking down upon her. 
 
 She would miss Jimmie, she knew, for she had become 
 accustomed to his merry whistle, his ringing laugh, his 
 teasing jokes at Hose's expense, and his going would 
 leave them very lonely, and so she frankly admitted, 
 adding that " it was not because she wished to be rid of 
 him that she was glad; it pleased her to see him in the 
 path of duty, even though that path led to danger and 
 possible death." 
 
 " Oh, don't, Annie, don't talk of death to Jimmie !" 
 Hose cried, with a shudder. " You can't begin to guess
 
 244 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 how it makes me feel, or how terrible it would seem if 
 either he or Tom should die !" 
 
 " Can't I ?" Annie asked, with such a depth of mourn 
 ful pathos, that Eose's tears flowed at once. 
 
 Of course Annie knew how it felt, and every fibre of 
 her heart was bleeding now, as she remembered one who 
 left her as full of life and hope as either Tom or Jinimie, 
 but who came back no more, save as the dead come back, 
 shrouded and coffined for the grave. But Annie would 
 not give way to her own feelings then. She would com 
 fort Eose, and encourage the young man, who, she felt, 
 shrank from the perils spread out before him. So she 
 told how few there were, comparatively, who died on the 
 battle-field, while the chances for life in the hospitals were 
 greater now that better care and skill had been pro 
 cured. 
 
 " Annie, excuse me, Mrs. Graham ?" and Jimmie spoke 
 vehemently, while his eyes kindled with a strange gleam. 
 " Why don't you go as nurse ? You might be the means 
 of untold good to the poor fellows who need such care as 
 you could give." 
 
 " I have thought of it," said Annie, while Eose ex 
 claimed: 
 
 " You turn hospital nurse, ridiculous! You never 
 shall, so long as I can prevent it. Shall she, Tom?" 
 And she appealed to the latter, who had just come in. 
 " Shall Annie go into those horrid hospitals ?" 
 
 " I am not Mrs. Graham's keeper," Tom replied, " but 
 I should be sorry to see her acting in the capacity of 
 hospital nurse, even though I know that some of our 
 noblest, best women are engaged in that work." 
 
 " Yes, old chap," and Jimmie laughed a merry laugh. 
 " It's mighty easy talking that way now. but suppose you, 
 Captain Carleton, are some day among the terribly
 
 TOM'S RECEPTION. 245 
 
 wounded, thigh shot through, arm splintered above the 
 elbow, jaw-bone broken, and all that, wouldn't the pain 
 be easier to bear, if the nurse should happen to be Mrs. 
 Graham, or somebody just like her ?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly it would," Tom answered. Still I 
 should be sorry to have her there amid the sickening 
 horrors." 
 
 " Please stop, I can't bear to hear about it !" Rose ex 
 claimed. " I know it would be nice to be a Florence 
 Nightingale, and Annie would make a splendid one, but 
 111 never let her go, unless you, or Jimmie, or Will are 
 wounded, and then we'll come together, won't we, 
 Annie ?" 
 
 There was no response from Annie, until Jimmie 
 said: 
 
 " Say, Mrs. Graham, if I am ever wounded, and you 
 hear I am suffering in some dismal hole, will you come 
 and care for me ?" 
 
 He did not join "Will's or Tom's name with his own. 
 It was " Jimmie Carleton " whom Annie was to nurse. 
 But it did not matter. Lifting up her head so that her 
 soft, blue eyes looked into his, Annie answered, unhesi 
 tatingly : 
 
 "Providence permitting, I will, and I would do the 
 same for any brave fellow who follows, as my husband 
 did, where duty to his country leads." 
 
 " So you see you will fare no better than I, after all," 
 Tom laughingly rejoined, while Jimmie thought within 
 himself: 
 
 " Why need she always bring that husband in ? It's 
 bad enough to know she's had one, without eternally 
 hearing about him." 
 
 Foolish Jimmie. It was folly for him to lie awake so 
 long as he did that" night, or to dream, when at last he
 
 246 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 slept, of hospital walls expanding into a palace as an 
 angel form with hair and eyes like Annie's bent over his 
 feverish pillow, while soft, white hands dressed some 
 gaping wound where the enemy's bullet had been. Sheer 
 folly, too, was it for " dignified old Tom," to watch from his 
 window the young moon, until it set in the western sky, 
 thinking of Mary, as he tried to make himself believe, 
 wondering why it was that Annie reminded him so much 
 of her, and why he should be so deeply interested in one 
 who, until a few weeks past, had been to him a stranger. 
 
 To Annie, Captain Carleton and Jimmie were nothing 
 more than friends, and if, during the week preceding 
 their departure, she was quite as busy as Eose, and ap 
 parently as much interested in the various preparations 
 for their comfort, it was only because they were soldiers, 
 and not, as Widow Simms once suggested toSusan,"be- 
 cause they were Carletons, and handsome and rich, and, 
 and, well, there's no tellin' what will happen, when a 
 widder's young and handsome, but this I know, I've 
 never married, and my man's been dead this nineteen 
 years ! Nobody need tell me she'd be so busy for any 
 body but them Carletons. If 'twas the Cap'n, I wouldn't 
 mind, but that sassy-faced Jeems. Ugh !" and in her ire 
 at Annie's supposed preference for " sassy-faced Jeems," 
 the widow spilled more than half of the spiced chocolate 
 she was carrying to Isaac. 
 
 Never was the widow more mistaken. Annie Graham 
 would have done for Eli, John, and Isaac Simms, or pos 
 sibly William Baker, the same offices she was doing for 
 " the Carletons," and her voice would have been just as 
 sweet and hopeful when she bade them farewell, as it 
 was that bright spring morning, when, in the parlor of 
 the Mather mansion, Tom and Jimmie were waiting to 
 say good-bye.
 
 TOM'S RECEPTION. 247 
 
 At the very last moment Bill Baker had announced hia 
 intention of going too. 
 
 " Thirteen dollars a month, and dog's fare was better 
 than layin' round hum," he said; " and livin' on the old 
 gal, who was gittin' most too straight and blue for his 
 notions. Besides that, he felt kinder 'tachecl to the 
 Corp'ral, and wanted to be where he could see him and 
 wait on him like any other nigger." 
 
 Jimmie would gladly have dispensed with such a sin 
 gular attache, but Bill could not be shaken off, and as 
 he did in various ways evince a strong regard for his 
 former captive, Jimmie was forced to submit to what he 
 termed "his thorn in the flesh," giving from, his own 
 purse money for Billy's outfit, and furnishing the mother 
 with means to repair her dwelling and make it far more 
 comfortable than at present. This he was sure pleased 
 Annie, and no sacrifice was too costly if it won her re 
 gard. She had prayed for him, he knew, for Rose had 
 told him so, and prayers like hers, though they did not 
 avail to save her George's life, would surely shield him" 
 from danger. He should come back again when the war 
 was over, come back to find an older grave by Rock- 
 land's churchyard gate, while the wife, who daily watered 
 that grave with tears, would be as young, as beautiful, 
 and far more girlish-looking than now, when, in her 
 widow's weeds, she offered him her hand at parting, bid 
 ding God-speed to him and the noble Tom, who stood 
 beside him. 
 
 There were tears, and kisses, and blessings from Rose 
 and her mother, a few low-spoken words of sympathy 
 and good will from Annie, and then the two young men 
 were gone. 
 
 Half an hour later, and the eastern train thundered 
 through the town, bearing away to the fields of bloody
 
 248 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 carnage, three more young, vigorous lives, and leaving 
 desolate two homes, one the lonely cottage, where Bill's 
 mother wept alone, the other the Mather mansion, where 
 Mrs. Carleton and Rose sobbed bitterly, while Annie 
 strove in various ways to comfort them. 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 AT THE MATHEE MANSION. 
 
 JSr?v-ta Y> 
 
 iJnJF' 
 
 I y X T was \erj lonely at the Mather mansion after the 
 
 ^\//A departure of the soldiers, and it required all 
 Jj/K^fk 
 Nfe^| Annie's tact to keep Eose from sinking entirely 
 
 under the sense of desolation which crept over her as 
 she began more and more to realize what the war meant, 
 and to tremble for the safety of her husband and her 
 brothers. They were still in Washington, but they 
 might be ordered to advance at any moment ; and, in a 
 tremor of distress, Eose waited and watched for every 
 mail which could bring her tidings of them. Next to 
 her husband's letters, Jimmie's did her the most good, 
 for Jimmie had in his nature a world of hopefulness and 
 humor ; and his letters were full of fun, and quaint des 
 cription of the life he was leading. And still of the three 
 young men, Will Mather, Tom Carleton, and Jimmie, 
 the latter suffered the most acutely, for in addition to his 
 dislike of military life he was compelled to endure the 
 jokes and jeers which the coarser and more unfeeling of 
 his comrades heaped upon him when, from Bill B^ker, 
 they heard that his first experience in arms-bearing had 
 been learned in the army of the enemy. To one of Bill's
 
 AT THE MATHER MANSION. 249 
 
 instincts it seemed a great thing that he had captured 
 and brought to Washington so illustrious a prisoner as 
 the " Corp'ral," as he persisted in calling him, and the 
 story was repeated with such wonderful additions, that 
 Jiinmie, when once by accident he was a listener to the 
 tale, failed utterly to recognize himself in the " chap who 
 had run so many miles, from, and then fought so many 
 hours with, the redoubtable Bill," who, while annoying 
 his quondam captive so terribly, still, under all circum 
 stances, evinced for him an attachment as singular as it 
 was sincere. Everything which he could do for Jimmie 
 he did, becoming literally his servant and drudge, and 
 thus saving him from many a hardship which, as a pri 
 vate, he would otherwise have encountered. It was a 
 fancy of Jimmie's that by serving as a private in the 
 army against which his hand had once been lifted, he 
 should in some way expiate his sin, and, perhaps, be 
 surer of winning favor from Annie Graham, whose blue 
 eyes were constantly before him just as they had looked 
 when, in her dress of black, she stood in the spring sun 
 shine, bidding him good-bye. Soon after his arrival in 
 Washington, he had been offered a second lieutenancy in 
 Captain Carleton's company, but he steadily declined the 
 office, giving no explanation to any one except his 
 brother and his sister Rose, to whom he wrote : 
 
 " Perhaps I was foolish to decline the offer, and for a moment I 
 was horribly tempted to accept it, especially when, by doing so, I 
 could to some degree escape my ' thorn in the flesh, ' who, notwith 
 standing that he does me many a kindness, annoys me excessively. 
 But I could not feel that I deserved that post. It ought to belong to 
 some one who had never spurned the Old Flag, and so I stood firm, 
 and suggested as a substitute that other Simms chap from Bockland, 
 Hophni, or Phineas, or Eii, hanged if I know what his name is ! 
 Any way, he is that crabbed widow's son, that used to pucker her 
 mouth so when she saw ' that young reb of a Carleton,' and snatch 
 11*
 
 250 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 away her gown for fear it should hit me. I reckon he'll get the 
 office, with its twelve hundred a year, which he can use for his 
 mother's support. One of her sons, you know, is married, and as 
 good as lost to her ; while that boy Isaac is not long for this world. 
 Prison life at Bichmond did the business for him, or I'm mistaken ; 
 so let Eli be lieutenant, and James Carleton only a private. Do you 
 think I did right, and will that paragon of yours, Mistress Graham, 
 think so, too ?" 
 
 This was what Jimmie wrote to Eose after he had been 
 gone for three or four weeks, and what Rose, with her 
 usual impetuous thoughtlessness, read to her mother and 
 Annie, who were both in her room when the letter came. 
 Annie had made an attempt to leave, but Rose had insist 
 ed that there could be no secret in Jimmie's letter. If 
 there was, she would skip it, she said, and she read on, 
 stumbling dreadfully, and mispronouncing words, for 
 Jimmie's handwriting was never very plain : and this 
 letter, written with a soft lead pencil, with a bit of slate- 
 stone for a table, was his very worst. She made out, 
 however, that he had declined the office of second lieute 
 nant because he thought he did not deserve it ; that he 
 had named Eh' Simms as a fitter person for it than him 
 self, and that he had called the widow a " crab-appple," 
 or something like it. All this was very clear ; and, after 
 exclaiming against Jimmie's morbid sense of justice in one 
 breath, and pronouncing him "perfectly splendid" in 
 another, she kept on till she reached the "paragon," 
 which she rendered " Pequot," making the sentence read, 
 "Will that Pequot of yours, Mistress Graham, think I did 
 right ?" 
 
 " What did he call me ?" Annie exclaimed, her face 
 turning very white, as she leaned toward Rose, who, 
 startled at her vehemence, tried again to make out the 
 word, which was strangely distorted, from the fact that
 
 AT THE MATHEB MANSION. 251 
 
 just as Jimmie was writing it, his shadow, Bill, had struck 
 him familiarly upon the shoulder, saying, with a laugh, 
 
 " Writin' to your gal, I s'pose ? Give her Bill Baker's 
 regrets." 
 
 "It looks like Pequot, and some like Patagonian," 
 Rose said, deciding at last that it was paragon, and adding, 
 by way of an explanation to herself of Annie's evident 
 surprise, " you did not like the idea of his calling you a 
 Pequot, did you Annie ? It wouldn't have meant anything 
 if he had, and it was natural that I should make the 
 blunder, for that's the name he gave the young girl at the 
 Pequot House, the one he liked, and to whom he passed 
 himself off as Dick Lee. You remember I told you about 
 her." 
 
 "Yes, I remember," and Annie's voice was a little 
 husky " the little giii who was not happy with her aunt, 
 and so listened the more willingly to the boy's kind win 
 ning words." 
 
 Annie did not know why she said that, unless it were 
 wrung from her by some sudden and bitter memory of 
 what had been a bright sun-spot in her cheerless child 
 hood. When the Pequot girl was mentioned in her pre 
 sence once before, she had gathered that it was mostly 
 Mrs. Carleton's pride which had taken the boy away from 
 any more rambles on the beach or moonlight sails upon 
 the bay, and perhaps it was a desire to defend and excuse 
 the girl which prompted her to advance a reason why 
 Dick Lee's attentions had been so acceptable. She would 
 have given much to recall her words, which made Mrs. 
 Caiieton dart a quick, curious glance at her, while Hose 
 exclaimed : "How do you know she was not happy with 
 her aunt? Did Jimmie ever tell you about her ?" 
 
 " Never," Annie replied, feeling glad that a servant ap-
 
 252 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 peared just at that moment, telling Eose a little girl was 
 in the kitchen asking to see her. 
 
 It was a daughter of one of the soldiers whose mother 
 was sick and had sent to Mrs. Mather for some little del 
 icacy. Such calls were frequent at the Mather house, for 
 the soldiers did not receive their pay regularly, and there 
 was much destitution among their families, who, but for 
 Rose's liberality, would have suffered far more than they 
 did. As freely as water, her money was used to relieve 
 their wants, and now, forgetting Jimmie and his Pequot, 
 she entered at once into the little girl's story, and when 
 told that the sick woman had expressed a wish to see her 
 she said, "I'll go now; there's Jake just come in. I'll 
 have him harness the horses and take you home. It must 
 be a mile or more to your house." 
 
 Hose usually acted upon her impulses, and was soon 
 in her carriage, with a huge basket at her feet and the 
 little girl opposite, enjoying her ride so much, and enjoy 
 ing it the more for the unmistakable signs of envy and 
 wonder which she detected in the faces of her compan 
 ions as she neared her humble home in the hollow. 
 Rose had asked both her mother and Annie to accom 
 pany her, but they had declined, and for a time after 
 Rose's departure they sat together in perfect silence, 
 while a curious train of thought was passing through the 
 minds of each. Annie's agitation when Rose read " Pe 
 quot " for " paragon " had surprised Mrs. Carleton, while 
 what she had said of the girl and her aunt had awaken 
 ed a feeling of disquiet and suspicion. Mrs. Carleton 
 was proud of her own and her husband's family, proud 
 of her wealth, and proud of her position. Not offen 
 sively so, but in that quiet, assured kind of way so na 
 tural to the highly bred Bostonian. It was this
 
 AT THE MATHER MANSION. 253 
 
 pride which had prompted her to resort to so ex 
 treme measures with the boy Jimmie. when she found 
 how much he was interested in the little Pequot, and 
 when, during Jinimie's brief stay in Rockland, she, with 
 a mother's. quick intuition, detected in him signs of inter 
 est in Annie Graham, her pride again took fright, and 
 she was half glad to have him go from the possible tempta 
 tion. Something in the nobler part of the woman' s nature 
 told her how wrong the feeling was, while each day some 
 new development of Annie's gentle Christian character, 
 made the desolate young creature dearer to her. That 
 she was superior to most people in her rank of life Mrs. 
 Carleton knew, and she had more than once wondered 
 how one like her had ever become the wife of a mechanic. 
 She was not thinking of this, however, on the afternoon 
 when she was alone with Annie, while Eose was away 
 on her errand of mercy. She was thinking rather of the 
 suspicion which had just found a lodgment in her mind, 
 and was devising some means of testing its reality. To 
 this end she at last made some casual remark about Rock- 
 land and its people, asking if Annie had always lived there. 
 
 " Only since I was married," was the reply. And Mrs. 
 Carleton continued, 
 
 " You seem more like Eastern people than like a New 
 Yorker. Were you born in New England ?" 
 
 "Yes, in Connecticut," Annie said. And then Mrs. 
 Carleton made a great blunder by asking next, 
 
 "Were you born in or near New London? I have 
 been there several times, and may know your family." 
 
 At mention of New London Annie's eyes flashed upon 
 Mrs. Carleton with a startled look, as if she felt that 
 there was a deeper meaning in the questioning to which 
 she was being subjected than appeared on the surface, 
 and her voice trembled a little as she replied,
 
 254 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 "I was born in Hartford, and lived there till I was 
 eight years old, when my parents both died of cholera 
 in one day> and I went to live with my aunt in New 
 Haven." 
 
 "Yes," Mrs. Carleton answered slowly. 
 
 Thus far there was quite as much to prove as there 
 was to disprove the correctness of her surmise, and 
 thinking to herself, 
 
 " I may as well go further now I have commenced with 
 being rude," she continued, "Pardon me, Mrs. Graham, 
 if I seem inquisitive, but I cannot help feeling interested 
 in one to whom Rose is so greatly attached, and I do not 
 remember that I ever heard any of your history before 
 your husband went to war. I do not even know your 
 maiden name." . 
 
 Annie's heart beat almost audibly, and her cheeks were 
 very red, as she replied, 
 
 " My father was Dr. Howard, and I was Annie Louise 
 Howard. Excuse me, Mrs. Carleton, if I cannot talk 
 much of my girl-life after my parents died. It was not 
 a happy one. I was wholly dependent upon my aunt, 
 who, while giving me every advantage in the way of edu 
 cation, kept before me so constantly the fact that I was 
 an object of charity that it embittered every moment of 
 my life, and when George offered me his love I accepted 
 it gladly, finding in him the only real Mend I had known 
 since the day I was an orphan." 
 
 Annie was crying now, and excusing herself she left 
 the parlor and repaired to her own room, where her ex 
 citement spent itself in tears and sobs as she recalled all 
 the dreadful years when she was subject to the caprices 
 of the most capricious of women, who had attempted to 
 force her into a marriage with a milliorinaire of sixty, 
 and had driven her to accept the love which George Gra-
 
 AT THE MATEEK MANSION. 255 
 
 ham had offered her. George had not been her equal in 
 an intellectual point of view, and none knew this fact 
 better than Annie herself. But he was the kindest, ten- 
 derest of husbands, and she had loved him devotedly for 
 the manly virtues which made him the noble, unselfish 
 man he was. Capt. Carleton and Jimmie both could 
 sympathize with her tastes and inclinations far better 
 than George had done; but never once during her brief 
 married life had she allowed herself to wonder what her 
 lot might have been had it been cast with people like the 
 Carletons. And since her husband's death anything 
 which looked away from that grave by the churchyard 
 gate seemed so terrible to her that now, as she recalled 
 Mrs. Carleton's questionings, and guessed what had 
 prompted them, every nerve quivered with pain, which 
 could only be soothed by a visit to George's grave. 
 There, on the turf which covered him, she had wept out 
 many a grief, and she started for it now, the villagers 
 watching her as she passed their doors, and curiously 
 speculating, as people will, upon the time to come when 
 the long black dress and graceful, girlish form would net 
 be so often seen among the Eockland dead. 
 . Already the gossips of the town were coupling her 
 name with the Carletons, the majority giving her to Tom, 
 the elder, and more worthy of the two. A whisper of this 
 gossip had been borne to Mrs. Carleton, who, while pre 
 tending to ignore it, had felt troubled as she recalled all 
 the incidents of Jimrnie's visit at home. Then, when 
 the suspicion came to her that the woman whom Rose 
 had taken into her household was possibly identical with 
 the girl of New London, whose name she could not re 
 member, she felt for a moment greatly disturbed. There 
 was a fierce struggle with her pride, a close reasoning 
 with herself, and then her better nature triumphed, and
 
 256 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 her heart went out very kindly toward poor Annie, at 
 that moment standing by her husband's grave, and won 
 dering why her thoughts would keep straying away to 
 the wayward young man who had been a traitor to his 
 country, but was trying to atone by voluntarily bearing 
 the hardships of a private's life when a better was offered 
 him. He had asked if she would think he did right, and 
 the question had shown that he cared for her good opin 
 ion. Yes, she did think he was right, and she resolved 
 to send him a message to that effect when Eose wrote to 
 him next. There was no wrong to the dead in the 
 thought, and her tears dropped just as fast upon the 
 marble as she stooped to kiss the name cut upon it and 
 then left the silent graveyard. 
 
 Meantime Rose had visited her sick woman in the Hol 
 low, had fed the hungry children, and .dropped upon 
 the floor the six weeks baby which she tried to hold; 
 then, gathering her shawl about her and holding up her 
 skirts, just as she always did when in the homes of the 
 poor, she re-entered her carriage and bade Jake drive 
 her next to Widow Simms'. 
 
 Everything there was neat and clean as soap and 
 sand and the widow's two hands could make it, while 
 Susan made a very pretty picture, in her dark stuff 
 gown with the scarlet velvet ribbon in her black 
 hair. There was a saucer of English violets on the 
 round deal table, and their sweet perfume filled the 
 room into which Rose came dancing, her eyes shining 
 like stars, and her cheeks so brilliant a color that the 
 widow began directly to wonder "if there wasn't some 
 paint there." 
 
 The widow was not in her best mood, for she was very 
 tired, having done a heavy washing in the morning be 
 fore Rose Mather had thought of opening her bright
 
 AT THE MATHER MANSION. 257 
 
 eyes; then, after the coarser, larger pieces were dried 
 and ironed, she had tried to spin, a work to which she 
 clung as tenaciously as if on every stream in New England 
 there were not a cotton or woolen factory capable of do 
 ing the work so much easier and better than herself. 
 The widow was fond of spinning, and she had turned 
 the wheel with a right good will, until Isaac had com 
 plained that the continuous humming hurt his head, and 
 made him think of the wind as it howled so dismally 
 around the dreary prison in Eichmond. Libby, they 
 called it now, and Isaac always shuddered when he heard 
 the name and thought of what he suffered there. 
 
 Isaac was very weak and pale, and his face looked like 
 that of some young girl as he lay among his pillows, in 
 the pretty dressing-gown which Eose had bought and 
 Annie had made for him. He was sleeping when Eose 
 came in, and the widow's " Hsh-sh," came warningly as 
 a greeting, but came too late, for Eose's blithesome voice 
 had roused him, and his glad, welcoming smile more than 
 counterbalanced the frown which settled on the widow's 
 face when she saw her boy disturbed. Eose was accus 
 tomed to the widow's ways, and throwing off her shawl and 
 untying her hat, she sat down on the foot of Isaac's 
 bed, and drawing Jimmie's letter from her pocket be 
 gan: 
 
 "I've got such splendid news for you, Mrs. Simms, at 
 least, I think I have. Yes, I know it's sure to come true. 
 Eli is going to be a lieutenant, with twelve hundred dol 
 lars a year. Such a heap of money for him; and it's all 
 Jimmie's doings, too. He would not have the office be 
 cause he did not think he deserved it. Listen to what he 
 says." 
 
 Both the "Widow and Susan were close to Eose now, 
 the frown all gone from the widow's brow, and the puck-
 
 258 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 er from her mouth; but both came back in a trice, as 
 blundering Eose read on about " Hophni," and " Phi- 
 neas," and "Eli," till she came to the "crabbed" which 
 she called " crab-apple" and then stopped short, her face 
 a perfect blaze, as she tried to apologize. 
 
 "'Tain't wuth while to soap it over," the widow said, 
 fiercely. " I be a crab-apple, I s'pose, and a gnarly one 
 at that, but I am as I was made, and I'd like to know if 
 crabs wan't as good as Secessioners." 
 
 " Please, mother, never mind," Isaac said, pleadingly, 
 and his voice always quieted the fiery woman, who lis 
 tened while Rose read of Eli's good fortune, and made 
 another terrible mistake by stumbling upon Jimmie's 
 opinion of Isaac's sickness. 
 
 She only read, "He is not long for this world," but 
 that was enough to bring a flush to his brow, and 
 blanch his mother's cheek; while, with a gush of tears, 
 Hose hid her face in Susan's lap, and sobbed : 
 
 " I wish I had not come. I'm. always doing wrong 
 when I mean to do the best. Oh, I wish the war had 
 never been, and I don't believe Isaac is so sick. .Jimmie 
 has no right to judge. He don't know." 
 
 Hose's distress was too genuine not to touch the wid 
 ow, who tried to appear calm and unconcerned, and even 
 said something kind of Jimmie, who had so generously 
 preferred Eli to himself. But there was a restraint over 
 everything, and, after a few awkward attempts at some 
 thing like natural conversation, Rose bade a hasty good 
 bye, and went out from the house to which she had 
 brought more sorrow than joy.
 
 NOT LONG FOR THIS WOELDi 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. - 
 
 "NOT LONG FOB THIS WOKLD." 
 
 'HE sick boy whispered the words a great manj 
 times to himself, as with his face to the wall, 
 where neither his mother nor Susan could see it, 
 he thought of what Eose had read, and wondered if it 
 were true. He was not afraid to die. He had been very 
 near death once before, and had not shrunk from meet 
 ing it as death. It was only the dying from home he 
 had dreaded so much, asking to live till he could see his 
 mother again, and the grass growing by the cottage 
 door, and the violets by the well. And God had taken 
 him at his word. He had lived to see his mother, to feel 
 the touch of her rough hands upon his hair; to hear her 
 voice, always kind to him, calling him her "Iky boy;" 
 to see the green grass by the door, and the violets by 
 the well. But this, alas ! did not suffice. He wanted to 
 live longer, live to be a man, like Eli and John; live to 
 do good; live to take care of his mother; live to hear the 
 notes of victory borne on the northern breeze, as the 
 Federal Flag floated again over land and sea. All this 
 was worth living for, and Isaac was young to die, only 
 nineteen, and looking three years younger. It was very 
 hard, and the dark eyelashes closed tightly to keep back 
 the tears as the white lips tried to pray, " Thy will be 
 done." That was what they meant to utter, but there 
 came instead the first words of the prayer the Saviour 
 taught, "Our Father!" that was all; but the very name 
 of father brought a deep peace into Isaac's heart. 
 
 God was his father, and he had nothing to fear; living 
 or dying, it would be well with the boy who would not
 
 260 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 tell a lie even for promotion. And so, while the mother, 
 whose heart ached and throbbed with this new fear, and 
 still found time to feel a thrill of pride in Lieutenant Eli, 
 moved softly around the room, preparing the dainty sup 
 per for her child, Isaac slept peaceful!}', nor woke until 
 the delicate repast was ready, and waiting for him on 
 the little table by the bed. There was spiced chocolate 
 to-night, and nice cream toast, with grape jelly, and a 
 bit of cold baked chicken, and the highly-seasoned cu 
 cumber pickles Isaac had craved so much since his re 
 turn, and which the physician said were good for him. 
 And the best china cup was brought out, and the silver 
 spoons marked with the widow's maiden name, and a 
 white napkin was on the tray; and Isaac, who enjoyed 
 such things, knew why it was all done that particular 
 night, just as the widow knew why, at bed-time, he asked 
 Susan to read from Revelation, vii. 16, " They shall hun 
 ger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun 
 light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in 
 the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shah 1 lead 
 them unto living fountains of waters, and God shall 
 wipe away all tears from their eyes." 
 
 He was thinking of his heavenly home, while the 
 mother was thinking of the time when he, who Jiinmie 
 Carleton had said " was not long for earth," would be 
 gone, and she could no longer do for him the little offices 
 whidh gave her so much comfort. Since the dreadful 
 days when she knew her boy was in prison, the widow 
 had not felt so keen a pang as that which stirred her 
 heart-strings now, when alone in her room she dropped 
 in her quick, defiant way into the high-backed chair, and 
 sitting stiff and straight, tried to face the future. 
 It could not be that Isaac had only come home to die, 
 God would not deal thus harshly with her. He had
 
 NOT LONG FOB THIS WOELD. 261 
 
 spared Eli and John, He had promoted them both, 
 and He would not take Isaac from her. The boy was 
 getting better, he was mending every day, or, at least, 
 she had thought so, until Eose Mather came with her 
 message of evil. Why could not Hose have stayed at 
 home? "Why need she come there and leave such a 
 sting behind ? The widow was growing very hard and 
 wicked toward poor little thoughtless Rose, and her 
 heart lay like a stone in her bosom, as for an hour or 
 more she sat in her high-backed chair, thinking of the 
 boy whose low breathings she could hear from the next 
 room. He was sleeping, she thought, and she would steal 
 softly to his side and see if it was written on his face 
 that his days were numbered. But Isaac was not asleep, 
 and he knew the moment his mother bent over him, and 
 turning toward her, he whispered, 
 
 " I know why you are up so late, mother; and what 
 you are here for. You are thinking of what Mrs. Carle- 
 ton said, and wondering if it is true. I guess 'tis, moth 
 er, for I don't get any stronger, and my cough hurts me 
 so. But I'm not a bit afraid to die now, with you beside 
 me up to the very last minute. In Richmond it was dif 
 ferent: and I prayed so hard that God would let me 
 come back, if only to drink from the well and then die 
 on the grass beside it. He did let me come, and now 
 we mustn't say anything if He does not let me stay but a 
 little bit of a while. I've been thinking it over 'since 
 Mrs. Mather went away, and at first it seemed hard that 
 Eli and John should both have such good luck, and only 
 ' Stub,' be the one to suffer." 
 
 He said this last playfully, using his old nickname of 
 fs Stub," because he saw by the dim light burning on the 
 table the bitter look of anguish upon his mother's face, and 
 he would fain remove it. At the mention of the name
 
 262 KOSE MATHEE. 
 
 which her more stalwart sons had given to her baby, the 
 widow's chin quivered, and her rough hand smoothed 
 the thin light hair, but she did not speak, and Isaac 
 went on: 
 
 " Then, too, I want to live till the war is over. I want 
 to hear the joyful shouts, and see the bonfires they will 
 kindle in the streets. There's a big box in the barn. I 
 hid it there the morning I went away, and I said when 
 the peace comes we can burn that box, and mother will 
 look out from the window, and the church bells will ring, 
 and there'll be such rejoicings. Now I 'most know I shan't 
 be here to see it. But, mother, you'll burn the box, you 
 and Susan, with Eli and John, and you'll think of me, 
 who did what I could to bring the peace." 
 
 There was a choking sound like the swallowing of a 
 great sob, and that was all the answer the widow made; 
 only her hands moved faster through the threads of light 
 brown hair, and her rigid form sat up straighter, more 
 rigid than ever. She was suffering the fiercest pangs she 
 would ever know, for she was giving Isaac up. She was 
 coming to the knowledge that he was really going from 
 her, that Jirnmie Carleton was right, and Isaac was not 
 long for this world. When at last her mind reached that 
 point, the tension of nerve gave way for a little, and her 
 hot tears poured over the white face she kissed so ten 
 derly. 
 
 The moon was looking in at the low west window ere 
 the widow went back to her own bed, and Isaac, nestling 
 down among his pillows, fell away to sleep, dreaming of 
 the bonfire in the street, when the hidden box was burn 
 ed, and dreaming, too, of that other world which lies so 
 near this that he could almost see the loving hands 
 stretched out to welcome him. 
 
 After that night the widow's mouth shut together
 
 NOT LONG FOB THIS WOELD. 263 
 
 more firmly than ever, and the frown between her eyes 
 was more marked and decided, while her manner to all save 
 Isaac and Annie Graham was sharper, and crisper than 
 before. When Eli's letter came telling of his promotion 
 and lauding Jimmie Carleton, whose generous act was a 
 by -word in the company, her face relaxed a little, and she 
 said to Annie Graham : " The Lord is good to my two 
 oldest boys, but if he'd give me Isaac I wouldn't care 
 for all the titles in Christendom." 
 
 As the warm weather came on, Isaac did not get up any 
 more to sit by the open door, but lay all day on his bed, 
 sometimes sleeping, sometimes thinking, and sometimes 
 listening while Annie read to him from the Bible. Isaac 
 was very fond of Annie. She had been George Gra 
 ham's wife, and he evinced so much desire to have her 
 constantly with him that at last she stayed altogether 
 with Mrs.. Simms, only going occasionally to the Mather 
 Mansion, where they missed her so much. Eose was 
 nothing without her, and had at first opposed her going 
 to the Widow Simms. 
 
 "If help was needed," she said, "she would hire some 
 one, for Annie must not tire herself out just as she was 
 beginning to grow plump and beautiful again." 
 
 But when Isaac said to her: "Please let Mrs. Graham 
 come ; it will not be long she'll have to stay, and she is so 
 full of hope and faith that it makes me more willing to 
 die and to go away alone across the Jordan," she with 
 drew her opposition, and Annie was free to go and come 
 * as she liked. It suited Annie to get away from the Ma 
 ther Mansion just then, for she could not help feeling 
 that there was a purpose in Mrs. Carleton's questioning 
 her of her early history, and she hailed any excuse which 
 removed her from the scrutiny with which since that 
 conversation touching her early home and maiden name
 
 264: HOSE MATHER. 
 
 Mrs. Carleton had evidently regarded her. Jimiaie had 
 written to her once, inclosing the unsealed note in a let 
 ter to Rose, and Annie's cheeks had been all ablaze as she 
 read it, for she knew the mother's eyes were fastened 
 upon her. It was nothing but a simple acknowledgment 
 of some article Annie had made and sent to him in a box 
 filled for all three of the soldiers, Will Mather, Tom and 
 Jimmie. There was also mention made of Annie's kind 
 ly message, to the intent that she did think he was right 
 in giving the office to Eli, and a wish expressed that she 
 would write to him. 
 
 "You don't know how much good letters from home do such 
 scamps as we privates are, or how we need something from the civil 
 ized world to keep us from turning heathens. " 
 
 Tom, too, had sent thanks to Annie Graham for the 
 needle-book made for him, but he did not write to her, 
 though every letter had in it more or less of "Mrs Gra 
 ham,'"' and Mrs. Carleton, while saying to herself: "Both 
 my boys have fallen under the spell," felt her pride 
 gradually giving way and her heart growing warmer to 
 ward the woman whom she missed so much during the 
 weeks spent at Isaac's bedside. 
 
 They were not many, for when the dry days of August 
 came on, and the grass withered by the door, and the 
 flo\vers drooped for want of rain, and the sun rose each 
 morning redder, hotter, than on the previous day, the 
 sick boy began to fail rapidly, and one night, just as 
 the wind was beginning to blow from the west, where 
 a bank of dark clouds was lying, he whispered to An 
 nie : 
 
 " Call mother and Susan, for I know I am going now." 
 
 The widow was in the back yard, putting out the bar 
 rels and tubs to catch the rain if it came, for the well
 
 NOT LONG FOE THIS WORLD. 265 
 
 and the cistern were nearly dry, just as her dim eyes 
 were, when a few minutes after she bent over her boy, 
 and saw the change coming so rapidly. She could not 
 weep, and Susan's sobs annoyed her. " 'Twas like them 
 lluggleses to go into hysterics and make a fuss," she 
 thought, with a kind of bitter scorn for her daughter-in- 
 law, who loved Isaac as a brother, and wept that he was 
 leaving them. Perhaps the dying boy detected the feel 
 ing, for he said, feebly: 
 
 " Go out, Susan and Mrs. Graham both. I want to 
 be alone with mother a minute." Then when they were 
 alone, he said: "I am dying, mother, and I know you 
 won't be angry at what I say. I want you to be kind to 
 Susan, and pet her some and love her for John's sake. 
 She is a good girl, and Mr. Carleton's good too, the one 
 they call Jimmie, I mean. Don't say harsh things of him 
 because he was once a rebel. Don't speak against him to 
 Mrs. Graham. Maybe she will like him sometime, and if 
 so, help her, mother, instead of hindering it." 
 
 Jimmie Carleton, on his lone picket-watch that night 
 on the banks of the Potomac, and thinking, alas ! more 
 of a black-robed figure, with braids of pale-brown hair, 
 than of a lurking foe, little dreamed of the good word 
 spoken for him by the dying boy, whose eyes turned 
 lovingly to Annie when she came back to him, and held 
 his clammy hand. 
 
 "It is not dark; it is not hard; I am not afraid, for 
 the Saviour is with me," he kept repeating, and then he 
 sent messages to his absent brothers, to Captain Tom 
 Carleton, who had been so kind to him in prison, and to 
 Jimmie, too, and all the boys who had been with him in 
 battle; and then, just as the wind began to roar down 
 the chimney, and the refreshing rain to beat against the 
 windows, Isaac's spirit went out into the great unknown 
 
 12
 
 266 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 expanse beyond this life, and only the pale, emaciated 
 body was left in the humble room, where the lone women 
 stood looking upon the boyish face, which seemed so 
 young in death. 
 
 The widow uttered no sound when she knew he was 
 dead, and it was her hand which drew the covering de 
 cently about him, and then picked up from the floor a 
 loose feather, which had dropped from the worn pillow. 
 
 Susan must speak to their next-door neighbors, she 
 said, and ask them to care for the body. Then, when 
 the" men came in, she remembered an open window in 
 the back chamber where the rain must be driving in, 
 and stole up there on the pretence of shutting it; but she 
 did not return till the men were gone, and Isaac was ly 
 ing on the calico- covered lounge with a look of perfect 
 peace upon his face, and the damp night air blowing 
 softly across his light hair. 
 
 Kneeling at his side, and laying her hard cheek against 
 the icy face of her last-born, the mother gave vent to her 
 grief in her own peculiar way. There were no tears, or 
 sobs; but loving, tender, cooing words whispered over 
 the boy, as if he had been a living baby, instead of a sol 
 dier dead. And yet the fact that it was a soldier, lying 
 there before her, was never lost sight of, and the bitter 
 part of the woman's nature was stirred to its very depths 
 as she remembered what hajd brought her boy to this. 
 It was the war. And fierce were the mental denuncia 
 tions against those who had stirred up the strife, while 
 with the bitterness came pitying thoughts of the poor 
 boys who died in the lonely hospitals, or on the battle 
 fields; and with her cheek still resting against the pale, 
 clammy one, and her fingers threading the light hair, the 
 widow vowed that all she was, and all she had, should 
 henceforth be given to the v,-ar. She would work for the
 
 NOT LONG FOE THIS WOULD. 267 
 
 soldiers, give to the soldiers, deny herself food and rai 
 ment for the soldiers; aye, even die for them, if need be; 
 and whispering the vow into her dead boy's ear, she left 
 him there alone, just as the early summer dawn was break 
 ing. And when, next morning, her friends came in to 
 see her, they found her sitting by the body, and working 
 upon the shirt she had a few days before taken from the 
 Aid Society to make for some poor wretch. 
 
 She should not wear mourning, she said. She had 
 other uses for her money; and so the leghorn of many 
 years' date, with the old faded green veil, followed Isaac 
 Sinims to the grave, and the widow's face was still and 
 stony as if cut from solid marble. 
 
 They made him a great funeral, too, though not so 
 great as George Graham's had been ; for Isaac was not 
 the second, nor the third, nor the fourth soldier buried 
 in Eockland's churchyard. But he was Isaac Simms, 
 "Little Ike," "Stub," whom everybody liked; and so 
 the firemen came out to do him honor, and the Eockland 
 Guards, and the company of young lads who were be 
 ginning to drill, and the boys from the Academy, and 
 Hose Mather was chief directress, and her carriage car 
 ried the widow, and Susan, and Annie, and herself up to 
 the newly-made grave, where they left the boy who once 
 had sawed wood for the little lady now paying him such 
 honor. 
 
 The war was a great leveler of rank, bringing together 
 in one common cause the high and the low, the rich and 
 the poor, and in no one was this more strikingly seen 
 than in the case of Eose Mather, who, utterly forgetful of 
 the days when, as Eose Carleton, of Boston, she would 
 scarcely have deigned to notice such as the "Widow 
 Simms, now sought in so many ways to comfort the 
 stricken woman, going every day to her humble home,
 
 268 EOSE MAT3ER. 
 
 and once coaxing her to spend a day at the Mather 
 mansion, together with Susan, whom Rose secretly 
 thought a little insipid and dull. Susan's husband was 
 alive, and in the full flush of prosperity; so Susan did 
 not need sympathy, but the widow did, and Eose got 
 her up to the " Great House," as the widow called it, - 
 and ordered a most elaborate dinner, with soups and 
 fish, and roasts and salads, prepared with oil, which 
 turned the widow's stomach, and ices and chocolate, and 
 Charlotte-russe, and nuts and fruit, and coffee served in 
 cups the size of an acorn, the widow thought, as very red 
 in the face and perspiring at every pore, she went 
 through the dreadful dinner which lasted nearly three 
 hours, and left her at its conclusion, " weak as water, 
 and sweatin' like rain," as she whispered to Annie, who 
 took the tired woman for a few moments into her own 
 room, and listened patiently to her comments upon the 
 grand dinner which had so nearly been the death of her. 
 
 Susan, on the contrary, enjoyed it. It was her first 
 glimpse of life among the very wealthy, and while her 
 mother-in-law was wondering " how Annie could stand 
 such doin's every day, and especially that 'bominable 
 soup, and still wus salut" Susan was thinking how she 
 should like to live in just such style, and wondering if, 
 when John came home with his wages all saved, she 
 could not set up housekeeping somewhat on the Mather 
 order. At least she would have those little coffees after 
 dinner ; though she doubted John's willingness to sit 
 quietly until the coffee was reached. 
 
 It was a long day to the widow, and the happiest part 
 of it was the going home by the cemetery, where she 
 stopped at Isaac's grave, and bending over the turf, 
 murmured her tender words of love and sorrow for the 
 boy who slept beneath. There was a plan forming in
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER 269 
 
 the widow's mind, and it came out at last to Annie, who 
 was visiting her one day. 
 
 The hospitals were full to overflowing, and the cry all 
 along the lines was for more help to care for the sick 
 and dying, and the widow was going as nurse, either in 
 the hospital or in the field. She should prefer the lat 
 ter, she said, " for only folks with pluck could stand it 
 there." 
 
 And Annie encouraged her to go, and even talked of 
 going too, but the first suggestion of the plan brought 
 such a storm of opposition from Rose, that for a little 
 time longer Annie yielded, resolving, however, that ere 
 long she would break away and take her place where 
 she felt that she could do more good than she was doing 
 in Rockland. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIL 
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. 
 
 SIMMS was going to the army, and Jim. 
 mie Carleton, who was coming home for a few 
 weeks, was to be her escort to "Washington. 
 During the summer Jimmie had seen a good deal of hard 
 service. He ha<I been in no general battle, but had 
 taken part in several skirmishes and raids, in one of 
 which he received a severe flesh wound in his arm, 
 which, together with a sprained ankle, confined him for 
 a time to the hospital, and finally procured for him a 
 furlough of three or four weeks. Rose was delighted, 
 and this time the Federal Fag was actually floating from 
 the cupola of the Mather mansion in honor of Jimmie's 
 return ; but there was no crowd at the depot to wel-
 
 270 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 come him. That custom was worn out, and only the 
 Mather carriage was waiting for Jimrnie, whose right 
 arm was in a sling, and whose face looked pale and thin 
 from his recent confinement in hospital. Altogether he 
 was very interesting in his character as a wounded sol 
 dier, Eose thought, as she made an impetuous rush at 
 him, nearly strangling him with her vehement joy at 
 having him home again. And Jimmie was very glad to 
 see her, glad, too, to meet his mother, but his eyes 
 kept constantly watching the door, and wandering down 
 the hall, as if in quest of some one who did not come. 
 During the weary days he had passed in the George 
 town Hospital, Annie Graham's face had been constant 
 ly with him, and as he watched the tall, wiry figure of the 
 nurse, who always wore a sun-bonnet and had a pin be 
 tween her teeth, he kept wishing that it was Annie, and 
 even worked himself into a passion against his sister 
 Hose, who, in one of her letters, had spoken of Annie's 
 proposal to offer herself as nurse, and her violent oppo 
 sition to the plan. 
 
 " If Eose had minded her business Annie might possi 
 bly have been in this very ward, instead of that old 
 maid from Massachusetts, who looks for all the world 
 like those awful good women in Boston, who don't wear 
 hoops, and who distribute tracts on Sundays in the 
 vicinity of Cornhill. "Why can't a woman look decent, 
 and distribute tracts, too ? Annie, in her black dress, 
 with her hair done up somehow, would do more good to 
 us poor invalids than forty strong-minded females in 
 paste-board bonnets, with an everlasting pin between 
 their teeth." 
 
 Thus Jimmie fretted about Eose, an'd the Massachu 
 setts woman, who, in spite of her big pin and paste 
 board bonnet, brought him many a nice dish of tea or
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER 271 
 
 bowl of soup, until the order came for him to go home, 
 when, with an alacrity which almost belied the languor 
 and weakness he had complained of so bitterly, he packed 
 his valise and started again for Rockland. This time he 
 wore the "army blue;" but the suit which at first had 
 been so fresh and clean, was soiled, and worn, and hate 
 ful to the fastidious young man, who only endured it be 
 cause he fancied it might in some way commend him to 
 Annie Graham. Rose had written that she worshiped 
 the very name of a soldier, especially if he were a poor 
 private, her sympathies being specially enlisted for that 
 class of people. And Jimmie was a poor private, and a 
 wounded one at that, with his arm in a sling, and a cane 
 in his hand, and his curly hair cut short, and his coat 
 all wrinkled and soiled, and his knapsack on his back ; 
 and he was going home to Annie, who surely would wel 
 come him now, and hold his hand a moment, and possi 
 bly dress his wound. That would be delightful ; and 
 Jimmie's blood went tingling through his veins as he felt 
 in fancy t-ie soft touch of Annie's fingers upon his flesh, 
 and saw her head crowned with the pale-brown hair 
 bending over him. He felt a little disappointment that 
 she was not at the depot to meet him, while his chagrin 
 increased at the tardiness of her appearance after his 
 arrival home, but she was coming at last, and Jimmie's 
 quick ear caught the rustle of her garments as she came 
 down the stairs and into the room, smiling and blushing, 
 as she took his offered hand, and begged him not to rise 
 for her. 
 
 "You are lame yet, I see. I had hoped your ankle 
 might be well," she said, glancing at his cane, which he 
 carried more from habit, and because it had been given 
 him by an officer, than from any real necessity. 
 
 His sprained ankle was almost well, and only troubled
 
 272 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 him at times; but after Annie's look of commiseration at 
 the cane, and her evident intention to pity him for 'his 
 ankle rather than his arm, he found it vastly easy to be 
 lame again, and even made some excuse to cross the 
 room in order to show off the limp which had not been 
 very perceptible when he first came in. And Annie was 
 very sorry for him, and inquired with a great deal of 
 interest into the particulars of his being wounded, and 
 kindly sat where he could look directly at her, and 
 thought, alas! how much he was changed from the 
 fashionably-dressed, saucy-faced young man who went 
 from them only a few months before. Short hair was 
 not becoming to him, neither was his thin, burnt face, 
 neither was that soiled blue coat; and he looked as 
 little as possible like a hero whom maidens could wor 
 ship. Some such thought passed through Annie's mind, 
 while Hose, too, felt the change in her handsome brother, 
 and, with a puzzled expression on her face, said to him, 
 as she stood by his side: 
 
 " How queer you do look, with your hair so short, and 
 the hollows in your cheeks ! Does war change all the 
 boys so much ? Are Tom and Will such frights ?" 
 
 " Eose !" Mrs. Carleton said, reprovingly, while Annie 
 looked up in surprise, pitying Jimmie, whose chin quiv 
 ered even more than his voice, as he said : 
 
 " Tom and Will have not been sick like me; and then, 
 there's no denying it, officers have easier times, as a 
 general thing, than privates. I do not mean, by that, 
 that I regret my position, for I do not. Somebody must 
 take a private's place, and it would better be I than a 
 great many others; but, Eose, I shall regret it, perhaps, 
 if by the means my looks become obnoxious to my sister 
 and friends." 
 
 There was a marked emphasis on the word friends, and
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIEB. 273 
 
 Jimmie's eyes went over appealingly to Annie, who re 
 membered how proud the boy Dick Lee used to be of his 
 beauty, and guessed how Rose's remarks must have 
 wounded him. Rose suspected it, too, and winding her 
 arms around his neck she tried to apologize. 
 
 "Forgive me, Jimmie," she said; "I did not mean 
 anything; only your hair is so short, just like the con 
 victs at Charlestown, and your coat is so tumbled and 
 dirty; but Hannah can wash that, or I can buy you a 
 new one," and Eose stumbled on, making matters ten 
 times worse, until Mrs. Carleton succeeded in turning 
 the conversation upon something besides her son's per 
 sonal appearance. 
 
 Annie was very sorry for him, and her sympathy ex 
 pressed itself in the soft light of her blue eyes which 
 rested so kindly upon him, and in the low, gentle cadence 
 of her voice when she addressed him, and her eager 
 haste to bring him whatever she thought he wanted, and 
 so save him the pain of walking ! 
 
 Mrs. Carleton saw through that ruse at once. She had 
 noticed no limp when Jimmie first came in, and she 
 readily suspected why it was put on. But it was not for 
 her to expose her son. From a lady who had spent a 
 few days at the Mather House, and who once lived near 
 Hartford, Mrs. Carleton had learned that the Dr. How 
 ard, who had died of cholera in '49, was highly respected, 
 both as a gentleman and a practising physician, and this 
 had helped to reconcile her in a great measure to what 
 ever might result from her son's evident liking for An 
 nie Graham, nee Annie Howard, and as she more than 
 alf suspected, the heroine of Jimmie's boyish fancy. 
 
 How very beautiful Jimmie thought Annie was, after 
 he had had time to recover himself a little and look at her 
 closely. She was in better health, and certainly in bet
 
 274 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 ter spirits than when he saw her last. Her cheeks were 
 rounder, her eyes were brighter, and her hair more lux 
 uriant, and worn more in accordance with the prevailing 
 style. This was Rose's doings, as was also the increased 
 length of Annie's dress, which swept the floor with so 
 long a trail that the Widow Simms had made it the sub 
 ject of sundry invidious remarks. 
 
 " Needn't tell her that a widder could wear such long, 
 switchin' gowns, and think just as much of the grave by 
 the gate. She knew better, and Miss Graham was be- 
 ginnin' to get frillicky. She could see through a mill 
 stone." 
 
 This was Mrs. Simms' opinion of the long gored dress 
 which Jimmie noticed at once, admiring the graceful, 
 symmetrical appearance it gave to Annie's figure, just as 
 he admired the softening effect which the plain white 
 collar and cuffs had upon Annie's dress. When he was 
 home before, everything about her was black of the deep 
 est dye ; but now the sombreness of her attire was 
 relieved somewhat, and Jimmie liked the change. He 
 could look at her without seeing constantly before him 
 the grave by the churchyard gate, where slept the man 
 whose widow she was. She did not seem like a widow, 
 she was so young ; only twenty-one, as Jimmie knew 
 from Rose, who, delighted with the friendly meeting be 
 tween her brother and friend, was again building castles 
 of what might be. Gould Rose have had her choice in the 
 matter, she would have selected Tom for Annie. He 
 was older, steadier, while his letters seemed very much 
 like Annie. Tom had found the Saviour of whom Isaac 
 Simms once talked so < arnestly in the prison house at 
 Richmond. He was better than Jimmie, Rose reasoned, 
 and more likely to suit Annie. Still, if it were to be 
 otherwise, she was satisfied, and in a quiet way she aided
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. 275 
 
 abetted Jimmie in all his plans to be frequently alone 
 with Annie. It was Annie who rode with him when 
 Mrs. Carleton was indisposed, and Rose did not care to 
 go, Annie who read to him the books which Rose pro 
 nounced too stupid for anything, Annie who brought 
 his cane, and Annie who finally attended to his wounded 
 arm. The physician did not come one day; Mrs. Carle- 
 ton was sick ; and Rose positively could not touch it, 
 and so Annie timidly offered her services, and Jirn- 
 mie knew from actual experience just how her soft 
 fingers felt upon his arm, his pulse throbbing and the 
 blood tingling in every vein as she dressed his wound 
 so carefully, asking anxiously if she hurt him very badly. 
 He would have suffered martyrdom sooner than lose the 
 opportunity of feeling those soft fingers upon his flesh, 
 and so it came about that Annie was his surgeon, and 
 ministered daily to the wound which healed far too 
 rapidly to suit the young man, who began to shrink 
 from a return to the life he had found so irksome. 
 
 Tom had written twice for him to come as soon as 
 possible, and now only one day more remained of the 
 month he was to spend at home. The Widow Simrns 
 was ready to go with him ; Susan had gone to her 
 mother, and the cottage was to be closed, subject to a 
 continual oversight from Mrs. Baker and an occasional 
 inspection from both Rose and Annie. The box which 
 Isaac had hidden in the barn, waiting for the bonfire 
 which should celebrate our nation's final victory, had 
 been brought from its hiding-place, and baptized with 
 the first and only tears the widow had shed since she 
 went back to her humble home and left him in the grave 
 yard. Sacred to her was that box, and she put it with 
 her best table and chairs, bidding Annie Graham sea 
 that no harm befell it, and saying to her, "In case I
 
 276 EOSE MATHER 
 
 never come back, and peace is declared, burn the box for* 
 Isaac's sake, right there on the grass-plat, which ha 
 dreamed about in Kichmond." 
 
 And Annie promised all, as she packed the widow's 
 trunk, putting in many little dainties which Rose Mather 
 had supplied, and which were destined for the soldiers 
 whom the widow was to nurse. She had been all day 
 with Mrs. Simms, and Eose had been back and forth 
 with her packages, curtailing her calls because of Jimmie, 
 with whom she would spend as much time as possible. 
 
 Jimmie was not in a very social mood that day; the 
 house was very lonely without Annie, and the young man 
 did nothing but walk from one window to another, look 
 ing always in the direction of Widow Simms', and 
 scarcely heeding at all what either his mother or sister 
 were saying to him. When it began to grow dark, and 
 he heard Eose speak of sending the carriage for Annie 
 as she had promised to do, he said : 
 
 "I ought to see Mrs. Simms myself to-night, and know 
 if everything is in readiness for to-morrow. I will go for 
 Mrs. Graham, and Eose, don't order the carriage, 
 there is a fine moon, and she, that is, I would rather 
 walk." 
 
 Jimmie spoke hurriedly, and something in his manner 
 betrayed to Eose the reason why he preferred to walk. 
 
 "Oh, Jimmie !" she exclaimed, "I'm so glad; tell her 
 so for me. I thought at first you did not like each 
 other, and everything was going wrong. I am so glad; 
 though I had picked her out for Tom. I 'most know he 
 fancied her, and then he is a widower. It would be 
 more suitable." 
 
 Eose meant nothing disparaging to Jimmie's suit. 
 She did think Tom, with his thirty-two years, better 
 suited to Annie, who had been a wife, than saucy-faced,
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. 277 
 
 teasing Jimmie of only twenty-four. But love never 
 consults the suitability of a thing, and Jimmie was des 
 perately in love by this time. It was not possible for 
 one of his temperament to live a whole month with An 
 nie as he had lived, and not be in love with her. Her 
 graceful beauty, brightened by the auxiliaries of dress 
 and improved health, and the thousand little, attentions 
 she paid him just because he was a soldier, had finished 
 the work begun when he was home before, and he could 
 not go back without hearing from her own lips whether 
 there was any hope for him, the scamp, the scapegrace, 
 the rebel, as he had been called by turns. What Hose 
 said of Tom brought a shadow to his face, and as 
 he walked rapidly toward Widow Simms', not limping 
 now, or scarcely touching his cane to the ground, he 
 thought of Tom, old Tom he called him, wondering 
 how much he had been interested in Annie Graham, and 
 asking himself if it were just the thing for him to take 
 advantage of Tom's absence, and supplant him in the 
 affections of one whom he might, perhaps, have won had 
 he an opportunity. 
 
 " But Tom has had his day," Jimmie thought. " He 
 can't expect another wife as nice as Mary was, and it is 
 only fair for me to try my luck. I never loved any one 
 before." 
 
 Jimmie stopped suddenly here; stopped in his solilo 
 quy and his walk, and looking up into the starry sky, 
 thought of the boy at New London, and the. hills beyond, 
 and the hotel on the beach, and the white-robed little 
 figure with the blue ribbons in the golden hair, and the 
 soft light in the violet eyes, which used to watch for his 
 coming, and look so bright and yet so modest withal 
 when he came. Louise her aunt had called her, and ha
 
 278 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 had designated her as Lu, or Lulu, just as the fancy 
 took him. 
 
 " I did love her some," Jimmie thought. " Yes, I loved 
 her as well as a boy of seventeen is capable of loving, 
 and I deceived her shabbily. I wonder where she is ? 
 She must be twenty or more by this time, and a woman 
 much like Annie. If I could iind her, who knows that I 
 might not like her best ?" And for a moment Jimmie 
 revolved the propriety of leaving Annie to Tom, while 
 he sought for his first love of the Pequot House. 
 
 But Annie Graham had made too strong an impres 
 sion upon him to be given up for a former love, who 
 might be dead for aught he knew, and so Tom was cast 
 overboard, and Jimmie resumed his walk in the direction 
 of Widow Simms' cottage. 
 
 The widow's trunks were all packed and ready : every 
 thing was done in the cottage which Annie could do, and 
 with a tired flush on her cheek, a tumbled look about 
 her hair, and a rent in the black dress, made by a nail on 
 one of the boxes, Annie was waiting for the carriage, and 
 half wishing, as she loked out into the bright moonlight, 
 that she was going to walk home instead of riding. The 
 fresh air would do her good, she thought, just as Jimmie 
 appeared at the door. He had come to see if there was 
 anything he could do for Mrs. Simms, he said, and to es 
 cort Mrs. Graham home. 
 
 Annie's cheeks were very red as she went for her shawl, 
 and then bade good bye to Mrs. Simms, whom she did 
 not expect to see on the morrow. As soon as they were 
 outside the gate, Jimmie drew her shawl close round her 
 neck, and taking her arm in his, said to her: " The night is 
 very fine and warm, too, for the first of November. You 
 won't mind taking the longest route home, I am sure, as 
 it is the last time I may ever walk with you, and there is
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. 279 
 
 something I must tell you before I go back to danger and 
 possible death." 
 
 He had turned into a long, grassy lane or newly open 
 ed street, where there were but few houses yet, and An 
 nie knew the route would at least be a mile out of the way, 
 but she could not resist the man who held her so closely 
 to his side. She must hear what he had to say, and with 
 an upward glance at the clear blue sky where she fancied 
 George was looking down upon her, she nerved herself 
 to listen. 
 
 "Annie," he began, "I've called you Mrs. Graham here 
 tofore, but for to-night you must be Annie, even if you 
 give me no right to call you by that name again. Annie, 
 I have been a scamp, a wretch, a rebel, and almost every 
 thing bad. I deceived a young girl in New London years 
 ago when I was a boy. Eose told you something about it 
 once. Her name was Louise, Lulu I called her, and I 
 made her think I loved her." 
 
 "And didn't you love her?" Annie asked suddenly, 
 her voice ringing clear in the still night and making Jini- 
 mie start, there was something so quiet and determined 
 in its tone. 
 
 Still he had no suspicion that the woman beside him 
 was the girl he had left on the beach at New London, 
 and he continued: "Yes, Annie, I did, as boys of seven 
 teen love girls of fourteen. She was pretty and soft, and 
 pure and good, and I kissed her once on her forehead, 
 and then I went away and never saw her after, or knew 
 what became of her. And I am telling you this by way of 
 confessing my misdeeds, for I've been a fast and reck 
 less young man. I've gambled, and sneered at the 
 Bible, and broken the Sabbath heaps of times, and flirted 
 with more than forty girls, some of them not very respec 
 table either, and none as pure as little Lulu. I ran
 
 280 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 away from home and nearly broke my mother's heart. I 
 joined the rebel army and fought against my brother at 
 the battle of Bull Run. I was captured by Bill Baker 
 and led with a halter to Washington and there shut up 
 in prison. A fine character I give myself, and yet after all 
 this I have dared to love you, Annie Graham, and I have 
 brought you this way to ask if you will be my wife. Not 
 now, of course : not before I go back ; but if I come 
 through the war alive will you be mine then, Annie? 
 Tell me, darling, and don't tremble so, or turn your face 
 away." 
 
 Annie was shaking in every joint, and the face which 
 Jimmie tried in vain to see was white as ashes. She had 
 expected something like this when he led her down that 
 grassy lane, but nevertheless it came to her with a shock, 
 making her feel as if in some way she had injured her 
 dead husband by listening to another's love. And still she 
 could not at once repulse the young man whose arm was 
 around her, and who had drawn her to a gap in a stone 
 wall, where he made her sit down while she answered 
 him. Strange feelings had swept over her as she heard 
 Jimmie Carleton's voice telling her how much she was 
 beloved, how from the first moment he saw her he had 
 been interested in her, and asking her again if she had 
 anything to give the " recreant Jim." 
 
 He said the last playfully, but there was a great fear at 
 his heart lest her silence portended evil to him. 
 
 "No, Mr. Carleton. I have no heart to give you. I 
 buried it with George ; I can never love another. For 
 give me if in any way I have misled you. I was only 
 kind to you as I would be to any soldier." 
 
 "Bill Baker, for instance," came savagely from Jimmie's 
 lips. 
 
 He was cruelly disappointed, for he had not believed
 
 THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. 281 
 
 Annie would refuse him as she had done. He thought a 
 good deal of himself as a Carleton. Nay, he believed him 
 self superior to the man who was standing between him 
 and the woman he coveted, and to be so decidedly refused 
 by one who had been content with a person in George 
 Graham's position angered him for a moment. Annie 
 knew he was offended, and when he spoke of Bill Baker, 
 she said to him gently : 
 
 " You mistake me, Mr. Carleton. If necessary, I could 
 do for William Baker more than I have done for you ; 
 but it would only be from a sense of duty, there would 
 be no pleasure in it ; while caring for you was a pleas 
 ure, because you are Mrs. Mather's brother, and because, 
 because " 
 
 She did not know how to finish the sentence, for she 
 could not herself tell why it had of late been so pleasant 
 for her to do for Jimmie Carleton those little acts of 
 kindness which had devolved on her. She was only in 
 terested in him as a soldier, she insisted, and she tried 
 to make him understand that her decision was final ; 
 that were George dead a dozen years, she should give him 
 the same answer as she did now. She could not be his 
 wife. And Jimmie understood it at last, and by the ter 
 rible pangs of disappointment which crept over him, the 
 Pequot girl was fully avenged for the many times she had 
 watched from her window of the hotel, or walked sadly 
 along the road by the bay to see if Dick Lee were coming. 
 But Annie had no wish for revenge. She was only sorry 
 for him, and she tried to comfort him with the assurance 
 of her interest in him, and by telling him that, if ever he 
 was sick in hospital or camp, and unable to come home, 
 she would surely go to him as readily as if he were her 
 brother. 
 
 Jimmie did not particularly care for such comforting
 
 282 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 then, and his face, when he reached home, wore so dark 
 and sorry a look that Rose, knew at once that something 
 was wrong ; but she refrained from asking any questions 
 then, feeling intuitively that both Annie and her brother 
 would prefer to have her do so. 
 
 It was a very grave, silent party which met at the 
 breakfast table next morning, and only Annie was at all in 
 clined to talk. She tried to be cheerful and appear as usual 
 to the silent young man who never looked at her as she sat 
 opposite him, with her smooth bands of hair so becom 
 ingly arranged, and her eyes so full of pity for him. She 
 could not revoke her decision, but she was sorry to send 
 him from her with that look upon his face ; and when, 
 after breakfast, she met him for a few moments alone in 
 the library, she laid her hand timidly upon his arm, and 
 said, " Jimmie, don't be angry with me. Try to think of 
 me as your sister, your best friend, if you like. It grieves 
 me that I have made you so unhappy." 
 
 She had never called him Jimmie before, in his hearing, 
 and as she did it now, the dark, handsome face into which 
 she was looking, flushed with a sudden joy, as if he thought 
 she were relenting. But she was not; she could only be 
 his friend, his best friend, she repeated, and her face 
 was very pale, as she told him how she should remem 
 ber him, and work for him, and pray for him, when he 
 was gone. And then she gave him her hand, saying to 
 him, " It is nearly time for you to go. I would rather say 
 good-bye here." 
 
 And Jimmie took her hand, and, pressing it between 
 his own, said to her : 
 
 " You have hurt me cruelly, Annie Graham, for I be 
 lieved you cared for me ; but I cannot hate you for it, 
 though I tried to do so all night long. I love you just the 
 same as ever, and always shall. Remember your prom-
 
 TOM AND JIMMIE. 283 
 
 ise to coine to me when I am sick, and let me kiss you 
 once for the sake of what I hoped might be." 
 
 She did not refuse his request ; and when at last he 
 left her there was a red spot on her cheek where Jimmie 
 Carleton's lips had been. From her window she watch 
 ed him going down the walk ; and while with widow 
 Simms he waited at the depot for tHe coming of the train, 
 she on her knees was praying for him and his safety, just 
 as, eighteen months before, she prayed for George when 
 he was going from her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXHL 
 
 TOM AND JIMMIE. 
 
 ^IMMIE'S journey was performed in safety, and 
 he won golden opinions from his traveling com 
 panion, for whom he had cared as kindly as if it 
 had been his mother instead of the "crabbed widow" in 
 her eternal leghorn, with the vail of faded green. He 
 had left her at one of the hospitals in Washington, where 
 she was to begin her work as nurse, and hastened on to 
 join his regiment. Captain Carleton was glad to welcome 
 back the brother whom he had missed so much, but he 
 saw that something was wrong ; and that night, as they 
 sat around the tent fire, he asked what it was, and why 
 the face, usually so bright and cheerful, seemed so sober 
 and sad. Tom had made minute inquiries concerning 
 his mother, and Eose, and Susan Simms, and even poor 
 old Mrs. Baker. But not a word of Annie. He could 
 not speak of her, with that unfinished letter lying in his 
 little travelling writing-case, that letter commencing
 
 284 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Graham," and over the wording of which 
 Tom had spent more time by far than he did over the first 
 epistle sent to Mary Williams. That had been dashed off 
 in all the heat of a young man's first ardent passion, just 
 as Jimmie two weeks ago would have written to Annie. 
 But Tom was eight years older than Jimmie. His first 
 love had met its full fruition, and Mary, the object, was 
 dead. Tom had always been old for his years. He look 
 ed, and seemed, and felt, full forty now, save when he 
 thought of Annie, who was only twenty-one. Then he 
 went back to thirty-two, glad that he had numbered 
 no more birth-days. He had made up his mind to 
 write to her. A friendly letter the first should be, he 
 said, a letter merely asking if she would correspond with 
 him, and hinting at the interest he had felt in her ever 
 since he saw how much she was to Kose, and how con 
 stant were her labors for the suffering soldiers. If her 
 answer was favorable, he should ere long ask her to be 
 his wife, and this is the way he took to win the woman 
 whose name he would not mention to his brother. He 
 had been a little uneasy when Jimmie first went home, 
 for he knew how popular the wayward youth was with 
 all the ladies ; but as Eose had never written a word to 
 strengthen him in his fears, he had thrown them aside 
 and commenced the letter which to-night, after Jimmie 
 was gone, he was intending to finish for the morrow's 
 mail. He changed his mind, however, as the night wore 
 on, for in reply to his question as to what was the matter, 
 Jimmie had burst out impetuously with, 
 
 "It is all over with me and the widow. I went in 
 strong for her, Tom. I told her all my badness, con 
 fessed everything I could, and then she said it could not 
 be. I tell you, Tom, I did not know a man coiild be so 
 sore about a woman 1" And with a great choking sob
 
 TOM AND JIHMIE. 285 
 
 Jimmie Carleton laid liis head upon Tom's lap, and 
 moaned like some wounded animal. 
 
 Tom, who had been as a father to this younger brother, 
 was touched to his heart's core, and felt as if by having 
 that unfinished letter in his possession he was in some 
 way guilty, and as a pitying woman would have done, he 
 smoothed the dark curly hair, and tried to speak words 
 of comfort.. 
 
 " What had Annie said ? Perhaps she might relent. 
 "Would Jimmie tell him about it ?" 
 
 Then Jimmie lifted up his head, and looking straight 
 in Tom's eyes, said, 
 
 " Forgive me, old Tom. I was inclined to be jealous 
 of you. Rose said you were more suitable, and I know 
 you are; but, Tom, I did love Annie so much, after I 
 had swallowed the first husband, which cost me a great 
 effort, for a widow is not the beau ideal I used to cherish 
 of my future wife. Tom, you don't care for Annie, do 
 you ?" he continued, in a startled tone, as something in 
 Tom's face affrighted him. 
 
 Tom would not deceive him then, and he replied, 
 
 " I have, that is, yes, I do care for her, and I had 
 commenced a letter, but " 
 
 " Don't finish it, Tom. Do this for me, don't finish 
 it !" Jimmie exclaimed, eagerly, knowing now how the 
 hope that Annie might relent had buoyed him up, and 
 kept him from utter despondency. " Don't send it, Tom; 
 leave her to me, if I can win her yet. She may feel dif 
 ferently by and by : her husband is only one year dead. 
 Let me have Annie, Tom," and Jimmie grew more vehe 
 ment as he saw plainly the struggle in Tom's mind, 
 " You've had your day with Mary. Think of your years 
 of married life, when you were so happy, and leave Annie
 
 286 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 to me. At least don't try to get her from me, not yet, 
 wait a year. "Will you, Tom ?" 
 
 " Few could resist Jimrnie Carleton's pleadings when 
 they were so earnest as now; and generous Tom yielded 
 to the boy, whom he had scolded, and whipped, and 
 disciplined, and loved, and grieved over, ever since the 
 day their father died and left him the head of the fam- 
 
 fly. 
 
 "I will wait a year and see what that brings to us; 
 and you, Jimmie, must do the same, then Annie shall de 
 cide," he said at last, and his voice was so steady in its 
 tone, and his manner so kind, that Jimmie never guessed 
 how much it cost the man who " had had his day," to 
 unlock the little desk and take from it the letter intended 
 for Annie Graham and commit it to the flames. 
 
 They watched it together as it crisped and blackened 
 on the coals, neither saying a word or stirring until the 
 last thin flake had disappeared, when Tom bent to pick 
 up something which had dropped from the desk, when 
 he took out the letter. It was Mary's picture, and in 
 her lap the baby which had died when six months old. 
 
 " Yes, I have had my day," Tom thought, as he gazed 
 upon the fair, sweet face of 'her whose bright head had 
 once lain where he had thought to have Annie's he. "I 
 have had my day, and though it closed before it was 
 noon, I will not interfere with Jimmie." 
 
 And so the compact was sealed between them, and 
 Jimmie slept sounder on his soldier bed that night than 
 he had slept before since Annie's refusal. Jimmie was 
 not selfish, and as the days went by and he reflected 
 more and more upon Tom's generosity, his conscience 
 smote him for having allowed his brother to sacrifice his 
 happiness for a whim of his. " She might have refused 
 him, too, and then again she might not; at all events he
 
 TOM AND JBIMIE. 237 
 
 had a right to try his luck," Jimmie reasoned, until at 
 last his sense of justice triumphed and he wrote to Annie 
 an account of the whole transaction. 
 
 " It was mean in me to let Tom burn the letter," he 
 said, "but I could not bear the thought of his win 
 ning what I had lost, and so like a coward I looked on 
 and felt a thrill of satisfaction when I saw his letter 
 crisping on the coals. But as proof that I have repented 
 of that selfish act, I ask you plainly, ' Would you have re 
 plied favorably to that letter, had it been sent ?' If so, 
 tell me truly, and without ever betraying the fact that I 
 have written to you on the subject, I will manage to 
 have Tom write again, and if the fates shall so decree I 
 will try to forget that gap in the stone wall where we 
 sat that night when I told you of my love." 
 
 His letter found Annie sick in bed from the effects of 
 a severe cold which kept her so long in her room that it 
 was not till just on the eve of the battle of Fredericksburg 
 that Jimmie received her answer, " I should say No to 
 your brother just as I did to you." 
 
 This was what Jirnrnie read, and with a feeling of re 
 lief as far as Tom was concerned, he crushed the few 
 lines into his pocket and went on with his preparations 
 for the contest at Fredericksburg, which seemed inevitable, 
 with a kind of recklessness which characterized many of 
 our soldiers. Jimmie had heretofore felt no fears of a 
 battle. The bullet which might strike down another 
 would not harm him, and he charged his preservation 
 mostly to Annie's prayers for his safety; but in this, her 
 last brief note, she had not said so much as " God bless 
 you," and Jimmie's heart beat faster as he thought of 
 the impending danger. Jimmie seldom prayed, but if 
 Annie had failed him he must try what he could do for 
 himself, and when the night came down upon that vast
 
 288 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 army camping in the woods and on the hillside, it looked 
 on one young face upturned to the wintry sky, and the 
 moaning winds carried up to heaven the few words of 
 prayer which Jimmie Caiieton said. 
 
 Oppressed with a strange feeling of foreboding, he 
 prayed earnestly that God would blot out all his mani 
 fold transgressions, and if he died, grant him an entrance 
 into heaven where Annie was sure to go. Close beside 
 him crouched Bill, who listened with wonder to the 
 "Corp'ral," a feeling of terror beginning to creep into 
 his" own heart as he detected the accents of fear in his 
 companion. 
 
 "I say, Corp'ral," he began, when Jimmie's devotions 
 were ended, " be you 'fraid of somethin's happenin' to 
 you when they set us to erossin* that darned river, and 
 if there does, shall I write to the folks and the gal you 
 mentioned and tell 'em you prayed like a parson the 
 night before ?" 
 
 Jimmie was terribly annoyed with Bill's impertinence, 
 and for a man who had just been praying did not exer 
 cise as much Christian forbearance as might have been 
 expected. A. harsh "Mind your business!" was his only 
 reply, which Bill received with a good humored, " Guess 
 you'll have to try agin, Corp'ral, before you get into the 
 right frame;" and then there was silence between them, 
 and the night crept on apace, and the early morning be 
 gan to break and the wintry sky was obscured by a 
 thick, dull haze, which hid for a time 'our soldiers from 
 view, then a deadly fire of musketry from the opposite 
 bank of the Rappahannock was opened upon them, till 
 they fled to the shelter of the adjacent hills, where, form 
 ing into line, they again went back to the laying of the 
 pontoon bridges, while the roar of the cannon shook the 
 hills and told to the listeners miles away that the battle 
 of Fredericksburg was begun.
 
 RESULTS OP THE BATTLP. 289 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIV. 
 
 EESTJLTS OF THE BATTLE. 
 
 'HE streets of Rockland were full of excited peo 
 ple when the news first reached the town of the 
 terrible- battle which had left so many slain 
 upon the field, and desolated so many hearths both North 
 and South. Hose Mather was nearly frantic, for Will 
 she knew was in the battle, together with her two broth 
 ers, and it was not probable that all three would escape 
 unharmed. Eagerly she grasped the paper to see who 
 was killed, wounded, or missing, but neither of the three 
 names was there, and she began to hope again, and 
 found time to comfort poor Susan Simms, whose husband 
 was also in the fight, and who had gone almost mad with 
 the fear lest he should be killed. 
 
 Two days passed, and then there came a telegram from 
 Tom, and Mrs. Carleton, who read it first, gave a low, 
 moaning cry, while Rose, who read it next, uttered a 
 piercing shriek, and fell sobbing into Annie's arms. 
 
 " Oh, Will ! oh, Will ! my husband !" was what she 
 said, while Mrs. Carleton uttered Jimmie's name, and 
 then Annie knew that harm had come to him, and plac 
 ing Rose upon the sofa, she took the paper from Mrs. 
 Carleton's hand, and read: 
 
 ""Will was badly wounded, lay on the field all night ; Jimmie 
 missing, supposed to be a prisoner. I am well. 
 
 "T. CABUETON." 
 
 "Poor Jimmie!" Annie whispered, sadly, her heart 
 throbbing with pity for the young man who had gone 
 oack in time to meet so sad a fate. 
 
 13
 
 290 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 Never had so dark a day dawned upon Rose Mather 
 as that which followed the arrival of Tom's telegram, but 
 ere its close there came a message of hope to her. Will 
 had been taken to Washington, where he had providen 
 tially fallen into the hands of Mrs. Sirnms, who sent the 
 joyful news that "no bones were broken, and he wa& 
 doing well." 
 
 "Oh, Annie, God is so much better to me than I de 
 serve; I must love Him now, and I will, if He will only 
 send Jimmie back," Eose said, while Annie's heart went 
 up in a prayer of thanksgiving for Mr. Mather's compar 
 ative safety, and then went out after the poor prisoner, 
 whose destination was as yet unknown. 
 
 That night Rose started for Washington, and three 
 days after there came to Annie a soiled, queer-looking 
 missive,, directed to " Miss Widder Anny Graam, At Miss 
 Martherses," the name written at the top of the letter, 
 and the superscription spreading over so much surface, 
 that, had there been another word, it must, from neces 
 sity, have been written gn the other side of the letter. 
 It was from Bill Baker, and it read as follows : 
 
 " Army of Potomac, and about as licked out an army as you ever 
 seen. To all it may concern, and 'specially Miss Anny Graam. I 
 send you my regrets greetin', and hopin' this will find you erijoyin' 
 the same great blessin' . Bumside has made the thunderinest blun 
 der, and more'n a million of our boys is dead before Fredericksburgh. 
 Mr. Mathers was about riddled through, I guess, and the Corporal, 
 wall, may as well take it easy, I fit for him like a tiger, till they 
 nocked me endways, and I played dead to save my life. But the 
 Corporal's a goner, took prisoner with an awful cut on his neck ; 
 and now what I'm going to tell you is this : the night before the bat- 
 tie I came upon him prayin' like a priest, kneelin' in an awful mud- 
 piiddle, and what he said was somethin' about Heaven, and Anny, 
 whitch, beggin' your pardon, I think means you, and so I ast him in 
 case of bad luck, if I should write and tell you, I don't think he
 
 RESULTS OF THE BATTLE. 291 
 
 could have ben in a vary sperritual frame of mind, for he told me to 
 mind my bisiness, but I don't lay it up agin him, and when them too 
 tall, lantern-jawed sons of Balam grabbed him as he was tryin' to 
 skedaddle with the blood a spirtin' from his neck, I pitched inter 
 'em, and give 'em hale columby for a spell, till they nocked me flat 
 and I made bleeve dead as I was tellin' you. Don't feel bad, Miss 
 Graam. Trust luck and keep your powder dry, and mabby he'll 
 come back sometime. 
 
 Yours to command, 
 
 ' ' BrLti BAKEE. " 
 "Tell the old woman I'm well, but pretty well tuckered out." 
 
 " God soften the hearts of his captors. God keep him 
 in safety !" Annie whispered, and then, as Mrs. Carleton 
 came in, she passed the note to her, and tried to comfort 
 the poor mother, who, in Kose's absence, leaned on her 
 as on a daughter. 
 
 Annie seemed very near the sorrowing woman, who 
 wept bitterly for her poor boy, and in the first hours of 
 her sorrow she spoke out what was in her mind. 
 
 " I believe Jimmie loved you, Annie, and that makes 
 you very dear to me. We can mourn for him together, 
 and, Annie, you will pray for him night and day, that 
 God will bring him back to us." 
 
 Annie could only reply by pressing the hand which 
 sought hers, for her heart was too full to speak. 
 Had Jimmie been dead she would scarcely have mourn 
 ed for him more deeply than she did now. The country 
 was already rife with rumors of the sufferings endured 
 by our prisoners, and death itself seemed almost prefer 
 able to months and years of privations and pain in the 
 Southern prisons. 
 
 " Sent to Richmond, and probably from thence further 
 South, probably to Georgia." 
 
 This was all the intelligence they could procure from 
 him, until spring, when there came news direct that he
 
 292 EOSE MATHER 
 
 was at Salisbury, and there for a time the curtain 
 dropped, leaving his face shrouded in darkness, while in 
 his Northern home tears were shed like rain, and prayers 
 went up to heaven from the quivering lips of a mother, 
 who was just learning to pray as she ought, and into 
 Annie Graham's heart there gradually crept a wish that ' 
 the poor, weary prisoner might know how much and 
 how kindly she thought of him, feeling at times half 
 sorry that she had not given him some little hope as a 
 solace for the weary hours of his prison life, 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 GETTYSBUKGH. 
 
 |OSE MATHEE had brought her husband home 
 as soon as it was safe to move him, and with 
 the good nursing of Mrs. Carleton and Annie, 
 he grew strong enough to rejoin his regiment in May, 
 and the last which Eose heard from him directly was a 
 few words hastily written and sent off to Washington 
 just as the Army of the Potomac was moving on to Get- 
 tysburgh. Then came the terrible battle, when the sum 
 mer air was full of smoke, and dust, and flying splinters, 
 with clouds of torn-up earth which blinded the horror- 
 stricken men, who vainly sought for shelter behind the 
 trees and the headstones of the graveyard, where the 
 dead must almost have heard the fierce commotion 
 around them as wail after wail of human anguish, min 
 gled with the awful shrieks of dying horses, went up to 
 the blackened heavens and then died away in silence.
 
 GETTYSBUEGH. 293 
 
 Where the battle was the hottest, and the carnage the 
 most terrible, "Will Mather followed, or rather led, and 
 when the fight had ceased he lay upon his face, uncon 
 scious of the pitiless rain beating upon his head, or the 
 two savage-looking Texans bending over him, and turn 
 ing him to the light. 
 
 Among the list of killed, the Eockland Chronicle of 
 July 10th had the name of William Mather, while in 
 another column, designated by long lines of black, was a 
 eulogy upon the deceased, who was known to have fought 
 so bravely. Then every blind of the Mather mansion 
 was closed, and knots of crape streamed from the door 
 knob, and the villagers missed the roll of the carriage 
 wheels which were wont to carry so much comfort and 
 sunshine to the hearts of the poor soldiers; and the lit 
 tle airy, dancing creature, whose bright smile and rare 
 beauty had done quite as good service as her generous 
 gifts, lay in her darkened room, never weeping, never 
 speaking, except to moan so piteously, "Oh, Will, my 
 darling, my poor, poor husband." 
 
 They could not comfort her, for she did not seem to 
 hear, or at least to understand one word they said, and 
 the soft, dark eyes had in them a wild, scared look, 
 which troubled the watchers at her side, and made them 
 tremble for her safety. 
 
 The knots of crape were taken from the doors, and 
 the blinds were opened at last, and . the light of 
 heaven let into the dreary house ; but there came no 
 change to poor little Rose, whose white face grew so 
 ,thin that Tom, when in September he came home to see 
 her, would scarcely have known the little sister, of whose 
 beauty he had been so proud. As if the sight of him in 
 his uniform had brought back the horror of the past,
 
 294: ROSE MATHER. 
 
 she uttered a piercing shriek, and hid her face for a 
 moment in her pillows; then, with a sudden movement 
 lifted her head, and shedding back her tangled curls 
 from her pale forehead, she stretched her arms toward 
 him and whispered: 
 
 "Take me, Tom; hold me as you used to do; let me 
 be a little girl again hi the old home in Boston, for Will, 
 you know, is dead." 
 
 And Tom took her in his strong, brotherly arms, and 
 laid her head against his breast, and caressed and 
 smoothed her tumbled hair, and petted and loved her 
 just as he did when she was a little child, with no shadow 
 around her like that which enfolded her now. And then 
 he spoke of Will, and the dark eyes fastened eagerly upon 
 his as he told her how the very night before the battle, 
 Will knelt down with him and prayed that whether he 
 lived or died, all might be well with him. 
 
 And Rose," he continued, "he bade me tell you, in 
 case he was killed, that all was well, and you must think 
 of him as in Heaven, not far, as some suppose, but near to 
 you, with you, he said, and you must meet him there. 
 You must bear bravely what God chooses to send ; not 
 give up like this when there is so much to be done. Will 
 my darling little sister heed what poor Will said ? Will 
 she try to rally and be a brave woman ?" 
 
 " Yes. Tom, I'll try," came gaspingly from the white 
 lips, and Rose's voice was broken with eobs, as the first 
 tears she had shed since she heard the fatal news, ran in 
 torrents down her face. 
 
 Tom only staid a week, but he did them a world of 
 good, and Annie felt she had never known one half how 
 noble a man he was until she saw how tender he was 
 With Rose, and how kind to his mother, whose heart
 
 GETTYSBUKGH. 295 
 
 was aching to its very core for her youngest son. He 
 had been removed from Salisbury to Andersonville when 
 they last heard from him, and was dead, perhaps, by this 
 time. Poor Jimmie ! The year he had asked Tom to 
 wait would be up before very long, but Tom would still 
 keep faith with him. Annie was sacred to Jimmie's 
 memory, and once, when talking with her of the captive, 
 he alluded to what would probably be when Jimmie came 
 home again. And Annie did not turn from him now, as 
 she would once have done had such a thing been sug 
 gested. 
 
 " God only knows how I might feei," she said, and by 
 the look in her blue eyes, and the tone of her voice, Tom 
 knew there was no hope for him. 
 
 With many kisses and loving words of sympathy, he 
 bade his sister good-bye when his leave had expired, and 
 then in the hall stood a moment while his mother whis 
 pered something to him which made him start, and turn 
 pale as he said: 
 
 " Poor Will ! he would have been so glad !" 
 
 Then, as if the news had brought Rose nearer to him, 
 and made her more the object of his special care, he 
 went back to her a second time, and wound his arms 
 about her lovingly, as he said, " Poor little wounded dove ! 
 God's promises are for the widow and fatherless, and He 
 will care for you;" and Rose guessed to what he referred, 
 but there was no answering joy upon her face, and her 
 hands were pressed upon her heart as she watched him 
 from the window, going from her just as Will had gone, 
 and whispered to herself, " It would have been too much 
 happiness if Will had lived ; but now I cannot be glad."
 
 296 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 COUKSE. OF EVENTS. 
 
 ITH a howl of despair, Mrs. Baker came rushing 
 into the kitchen of the Mather mansion, one 
 ~ morning in November, startling Annie with her 
 vehemence as she thrust into her hand a dirty, half-worn 
 envelope, which she said was from Bill, who had been 
 missing since August, and who, it now appeared, was at 
 Andersonville. 
 
 "Might better be dead," his mother said, and then she 
 explained that the letter she brought Annie had come in 
 one to herself received that morning from Bill. 
 
 How he ever got it through the lines was a mystery 
 which he did not explain; nor did Annie care, inasmuch 
 as it brought news direct from Jimmie. He had written 
 to her with the pencil and on the sheet of paper Bill had 
 brought him, for Bill Baker was employed outside the 
 prison walls, and allowed many privileges which were 
 denied to the poor wretches who crowded that swampy 
 pen. In short, Bill had taken the Confederate oath, 
 " had done some tall swearin'," as he wrote to Annie, 
 giving as an excuse for the treasonable act, " that he 
 couldn't stan' the racket " in that horrible place, where 
 twenty thousand human beings were crowded together 
 in a space of twenty-five acres, and part of that a marshy 
 swamp, teeming with filth and scum, and hideous living 
 things. Another reason, too, Bill gave, and that was 
 "pity for the " Corp'ral," to whom he could occasionally 
 take little extras, and whom he would have scarcely 
 recognized, he said, so worn and changed had he become 
 from his long imprisonment.
 
 THE COURSE OF EVENTS. 297 
 
 "I mistrusted he was there," Bill wrote; " and so when me 
 and and some other fellow-travellers was safely landed in pur 
 gatory, I went on an explorin' tower to find him. But you bet it 
 want so easy gettin through that crowd. Why, the camp-meetin' 
 they had in the Fair Grounds in Rockland, when Marm Freeman 
 bust her biler hollerin,' was nothin' to the piles of ragged, dirty, hun- 
 gry-lookin' dogs; some standin' up, some lyin' down, and all lookin' 
 as if they was on their last legs. Eight on a little sand-bank, and so 
 near the dead line that I wonder he didn't get shot, I found the Cor- 
 p'ral, with his trouses tore to tatters, and lookin' like the old gal's 
 rag-bag that hangs in the suller-way. Didn't he cry, though, when 
 I hit him a kelp on the back, and want there some tall cryin' done by 
 both of us as we sat there flat on the sand, with the hot sun pourin' 
 down on us, and the sweat and the tears runnin' down his face, as 
 he told me all he'd suffered. It made my blood bile. I've had a 
 little taste of Libby, and Bell Isle, too; but they can't hold a candle 
 to this place. Miss Graam, you are the good sort, kinder pius like ; 
 but I'll be hanged if I don't bleeve you'll justify me in the thumpin' 
 lies I told the Corp'ral that day, to keep his spirits up. Says he, 
 ' Have you ever ben to Kockland since Fredericksburg ?' and then 
 I tho't in a minute of that nite in the woods when he prayed about 
 Anny; and ses I to myself, 'The piusest lie you ever told will be 
 that you have been home, and seen Miss Graam, with any other 
 triflin' additions you may think best;' so I told him I had ben hum 
 on a furbelow, as the old gal (meanin' my mother) calls it. And I 
 seen her, too, says I, Miss Graam, and she talked an awful sight 
 about you, I said, when you orto have seen him shiver all over as he 
 got up closer to me, and asked, ' What did she say ?' Then I went 
 on romancin', and told him how you^pent a whole evenin' at the ole 
 hut, talkin' about him, and how sorry you was for him, and couldn't 
 git your natural sleep for thinkin' of him, and how, when I came 
 away, you said to me on the sly, ' William, if you ever happen to 
 meet Mr. Carleton, give him Anny Graam's love, and tell him she 
 means it.' Great Peter ! I could almost see the flesh come back to 
 his bones, and his eyes had the old look in 'em, as he liked to of 
 hugged me to death. I'd done him a world of good, he said, and for 
 some days he seemed as chipper as you please ; but nobody can stan' 
 a diet of raw meal and the nastiest watter that ever run ; and ses I 
 to myself, Corp'ral will die as sure as thunder if somethin' don't
 
 298 ROSE MATHEK. 
 
 turn up- and so, when I got the hang of things a little, and seen 
 how the macheen was worked, sez I, ' I'll turn Secesh, though I hate 
 'em as I do pizen.' They wag glad enuff to have me, bein' I'm a 
 kind of carpenter and jiner, and they let me out, and I went to work 
 for the Corp'ral. I'll bet I told a hundred lies, fust and last, if I did 
 one. I said he was at heart Secesh; that he was in the rebel army, 
 and I took him prisoner at Manassas, which, you know was true. 
 Then I said his sweetheart, meanin' you, begging your pardon, got 
 up a row, and made him jine the Federals, and promise never to go 
 agin the flag, and that's how he come to be nabbed up at Fredericks- 
 burg. I said 'twan't no use to try to make him swear, for he thought 
 more of his gal's good opinion than he did of liberty, and I set you 
 up till I swan if I bleeve you'd a knowed yourself, and every one of 
 them fellers was ready to stan' by you, and two of 'em drinked your 
 helth with the wust whisky I ever tasted. One of 'em asked me if I 
 was a fail 1 specimen of the Northern Army, and I'll be darned if I 
 didn't tell him no, for I was ashamed to have 'em think the Federals 
 was all like me. I guess, though, they liked me some; anyway, they 
 let me carry something to the Corp'ral every now and then, and I 
 bleeve he'd die if I didn't. I've snmggled him in some paper and a 
 pencil, and he is going to wright to you, and I shall send it, no mat 
 ter how. The rebs won't see it, and I guess it's pretty sure to go 
 Bafe. I must stop now, and wright to the old woman. 
 "Yours to command, 
 
 " WILLIAM BAKEK, ESQUABE." 
 
 It was with great difficulty that Annie could decipher 
 the badly- written scrawl; but she made it out at last, 
 and then took Jimmie's letter next, shuddering as she 
 saw in it marks of the horrors which Bill had described 
 but faintly, and which were fully corroborated by Jim- 
 mie himself. 
 
 "My dear Annie," he wrote, "I do not know that this letter will 
 ever reach you. I have but little hope that it will. Still it is worth 
 trying for, and so here in this terrible place, whose horrors no pen 
 or tongue can adequately describe, I am writing to you, who I know 
 think sometimes of the poor wretch starving and dying by inches in 
 Andersonville. Oh, Annie, you can never know what I have suffered
 
 THE COTJESE OF EVENTS. 299 
 
 from hunger and thirst, and exposure and filth, which makes my 
 very blood curdle and creep, and from that weary homesickness 
 which more than aught else kills the poor boys around me. When 
 I first came here I thought I could not endure it, and though I knew 
 I was not prepared, I used to wish that I might die; but a little 
 drummer boy from Michigan, who took to me from the first, said his 
 prayers one night beside me, and the listening to him carried me 
 back to you, who, I felt sure, prayed for me each day. And so hope 
 came back again, with a desire to live and see your dear face once 
 more. Mylittle drummer boy, Johnny, was all the world to me, and 
 when he grew too sick to sit or stand, I held his poor head in my lap, 
 and gave up my rations to him, for he was almost famished, and ate 
 eagerly whatever was brought to us. We used to say the Lord's 
 Prayer together every night, when a certain star appeared, which he 
 playfully called his ' mother, ' saying it was her eye watching over 
 him. It was a childish fancy, but we grow childish here, and I, too, 
 have given that star a name. I call it ' Annie, ' and I watch its com 
 ing as eagerly as did the little boy, who died just as the star reached 
 the zenith and was shining down upon him. His head was in my 
 lap, and all there was left of my coat I made into a pillow for him, 
 and held him till he died. His mother's address is , Michi 
 gan. Write to her, Annie, and tell her how Johnny died in the firm 
 hope of meeting her again in heaven. Tell her he did not suffer 
 much pain, only a weakness, which wasted his life away. Tell her 
 the keepers were kind to him, and brought him ice-water several 
 times. Tell her, too, of the star at which he gazed so long as he had 
 strength. 
 
 "It was all the companion I had after he was gone until Bill 
 Baker came. I shall never forget that day. I had crawled up to 
 my sand bank, and drawn my rags around me, and was beginning 
 to wish again that I could die, when a broad hand was laid upon my 
 shoulder, and a voice which was music to me then, if it never had 
 been before, said to me cheerily, ' Hallo, old Corp'ral ! Such are 
 the chances of war! Give us your fist !' But when he saw what a 
 sorry, jaded wretch I was, his chin began to quiver, and we cried to 
 gether like two great babies as we were. 
 
 " Oh, Annie, was -it a lie Bill Baker told me, or did you really send 
 me your love, and say that you meant it ? He told me such a story, 
 and I grew better in a moment. Have you relented, and if I could 
 ask you again the question I asked a year ago, when we sat togethei
 
 bOO ROSE MATHER. 
 
 beneath the moonlight, would you tell me yes ? Darling Annie, An- 
 dersonville is not so terrible since I am kept up by that hope. I do 
 not mind now if my shoes and stockings are all gone, and my 
 trowsers nearly so, and I watch for that star so eagerly, and make 
 believe that it is you, and when the dark clouds obscure it, and the 
 rain is falling upon my unsheltered head, I say that it is Annie's 
 tears, and do not mind that either. I pray, too, Annie, pray with 
 my heart, I hope, though my prayers have more to do with you than 
 myself. 
 
 "Bill Baker said he should write and tell you about his taking 
 the oath, which I believe he did almost solely for my sake, and greatly 
 have I been benefited by it. Rough as he is, and disgusting at times, 
 he seems to have gained friends outside, and he does us many a kind 
 ness, confining his attentions mostly to me, who am his especial 
 care. It is a strange Providence that he who took me a prisoner at 
 Bull Run and annoyed me so terribly, should now be caring for me 
 here at Andersonville, and literally keeping the life within me, for I 
 should die without him. 
 
 "I have not written half I want to say, but my paper is nearly 
 used up, and not one word have I said to mother or Rose. Tell 
 them they would not know me now, and tell them, too, that in my 
 dreams, when I am not with you, I am with them, and mother's face 
 is like an angel's, while Rose's sparkling beauty makes my heart 
 beat just as it used to beat when I first began to realize what a dar 
 ling sister I had. Dear Annie, you did send that message by Bill 
 Baker, I wiM believe, and thus believing, shall gain strength maybe 
 to bear up until the day of release. 
 
 "Good-bye, my darling. Prom my crowded, filthy, terrible pris 
 on I send you a loving good-bye." 
 
 Notwithstanding the sickening details of this letter the 
 day succeeding its receipt was a brighter one at the Math 
 er house than the inmates had known for a long time. 
 Jimmie was still alive, and with Bill Baker's care he 
 might survive the horrors of Andersonville and come back 
 to them again. Annie showed both letters to Mrs Carle- 
 ton, who, when she read them, wound her arms around 
 Annie's neck and whispered, " Is it wrong for me to be
 
 THE COURSE OP EVENTS. 301 
 
 glad that Bill Baker told that lie, when by the meana 
 our prisoner boy is so greatly benefited." 
 
 Annie could not tell. She was not sorry that Jimmie 
 should think of her as he did, and that night when the 
 stars came out in the sky she looked tearfully up at them, 
 wondering which was the one watched for by the childish 
 young man, and the little boy who died. Mrs. Carleton 
 had taken it for granted that if Jimmie came back Annie 
 would be her daughter, and she clung to her with a love 
 and tenderness second only to what she felt for Eose. 
 Poor Rose ! She had listened with some degree of inter 
 est to such portions of Jimmie's letter as Annie chose to 
 read to her, but it had no power to rouse her from the 
 state of apathy into which she had fallen. She never 
 smiled now, and rarely spoke except to answer a question, 
 but sat all day by the window in her own room, and look 
 ed away to the southward, where all her thoughts were 
 centered. It was very strange that nothing could be 
 heard of her husband except that he was shot down dead. 
 A dozen corroborated that fact, but his body had not 
 been found on the field, nor was any mention ever made 
 of him in any official accounts. Once Rose had been 
 startled from her stupor by a soldier, who pretended to 
 have seen her husband in one of the Southern prisons, 
 but a closer examination proved that the man was intox 
 icated, and had told what he did in the hope that money 
 might be given him for the intelligence, and then Rose 
 sank back into her former condition, the same hopeless 
 look in her eyes which had been there from the moment 
 she heard her husband's name among the killed, and the 
 same look of anguish upon her face which never relaxed 
 a muscle, as she watched indifferently the preparations 
 made by her mother and Annie for an event which under
 
 302 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 other circumstances would have stirred every pulsation 
 of her heart. But when on Christmas morning, the 
 bell from St. Luke's was sending forth its joyous peal for 
 the child born in Bethlehem more than eighteen hundred 
 years ago, there came a softer, more natural look to 
 Rose's eyes, and her lip quivered a little as she said to 
 Annie, who was bending over her, "What is that sound 
 in the next room like the crying of a baby ?" 
 
 "It is your baby, Rose; born last night. Don't you re 
 member it, a beautiful little boy, with his father's look 
 in his eyes, and Jimmie's dimple in his chin?" 
 
 Annie hoped, by mentioning both the father and Jim- 
 mie, to awaken some interest in the little mother, whose 
 eyes grew larger, and rounder, and brighter, as she whis 
 pered: 
 
 " My baby, I can't understand. It is all so strange and 
 mysterious. How came I with a baby, Annie ? Bring it 
 to me, please." 
 
 They brought it to her, and laid it in her arms, and 
 then stood watching her as the first tokens of the moth 
 er's love came over her face and crept into her eyes, which 
 gradually began to fill with tears, until, at last, a storm 
 of sobs and moans burst forth, as Rose rocked to and fro, 
 whispering to her child: 
 
 " Poor darling ! to be born without a father, when he 
 would have been so proud of his boy. Poor, murdered 
 Will ! Poor, fatherless baby ! I am glad God gave you 
 to me. I did not deserve it. I've been so thoughtless 
 and wicked, but I will be better now. Dear little baby, 
 we will grow good together, s as to go some day -where 
 papa has gone." 
 
 She would not let them take the child from her. It 
 was hers, she said. God had sent it to make her better,
 
 THE COURSE OF EVENTS. 303 
 
 and she would have it. There was something in the 
 touch of its soft, warm hands, which kept her heart from 
 breaking. And so they left it with her, and from the day 
 that little life came to be one in the household, Rose be 
 gan to amend, and, in her love for her child, forgot in 
 part the terrible pain in her heart. Once her mother said 
 to her: 
 
 " "Will you call your baby, William ?" And she replied: 
 
 "No; there is but one "Willie for me, and he is in 
 Heaven. Baby will be called for brother Jimmie." 
 
 And so one bright Sunday morning in March, when St. 
 Luke's was decked with flowers from the Mather hot 
 house, and the children of the Sunday School sang their 
 Easter carols, Rose Mather, in her widow's weeds, went 
 up the aisle, with her mother, Annie, and brother Tom, 
 the latter of whom gave her bright-eyed, beautiful boy to 
 the rector, who baptized him " James Carleton." And 
 all through the congregation there ran a thrill of pity 
 for the widowed mother, whose face, though it had lost 
 some of its brilliant color, was more beautiful than ever, 
 for there was shining all over it the light of a new joy, 
 the peace which comes from sins forgiven, and, after the 
 baptism was over and the morning service read, Rose 
 knelt with her mother, brother, and Annie, to receive, 
 for the first time, the precious symbols of a Saviour's dy 
 ing love. 
 
 Rose had ceased to oppose Annie in her wish to join 
 Mrs. Simms, who was then at Annapolis ; and when Tom, 
 a few days after the baptism, went back again, Annie 
 would go with him as a regular hospital nurse. 
 
 It might be that Jimmie would be among the number 
 of skeletons sent up to "God's land," as the poor fellows 
 called it; and Annie's heart throbbed with the pleasure it 
 would be to minister to him, to call the life back to his
 
 304 EOSE MATHEE. 
 
 heart, to awaken an interest in him for olden times, and 
 then, perhaps, whisper to him that the decision made that 
 moonlight night, more than a year and a half ago, had 
 been revoked and where she had said no, her answer now 
 was yes. Between herself and Mrs. Carleton- there had 
 been a long talk, of which Jimmie and the little Pequot 
 girl were the subjects, and the proud lady had asked 
 forgiveness for the wrong done to that girl, if wrong there 
 were. 
 
 "Something tells me you will find my boy," she said; 
 " and if you do, tell him how freely I give him this little 
 Lulu, and God bless you both !" 
 
 A few weeks later, and news came to the Mather House 
 that when the battle of the "Wilderness was over, Captain 
 Tom Carleton was not with his handful of men who came 
 from the field. "A prisoner of war," was the next report, 
 and then, as if her last hope had been taken from her, 
 Mrs. Carleton broke down entirely, and, secluding herself 
 from the world without, sat down in her desolation, 
 mourning and praying for her two boys, one a prisoner 
 in Andersonville, and one in Columbia. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVH 
 
 THE HUNTED SOLDIEE. 
 
 'HE sun was just rising, and his red beams gilded 
 the summits of the Alleghany Mountains, which 
 in the glory of the early morning seemed as calm 
 and peaceful as if their lofty heights had never looked
 
 THE HUNTED SOLDIER. 805 
 
 down upon scenes of carnage and strife, or their tangled 
 passes and dark ravines sheltered poor, starving, fright 
 ened wretches, fleeing for their lives, and braving death 
 in any form rather than be recaptured by their merciless 
 pursuers. There were several of these miserable men 
 hiding in the mountain passes now, prisoners escaped 
 from Salisbury and other points, but our story now has to 
 do with but one, and that a young man, with a look of 
 determination in his eye, and the courage of a Samson in 
 his heart. He had suffered incredible hardships since the 
 day of his capsure. He had been stripped at once of his 
 handsome uniform by the brutal Texans, who found him 
 upon the field. His gold, which he carried about his per 
 son into every battle, had been taken from him, and in this 
 condition he had been sent from one prison to another, 
 until Salisbury received him. At first he had suffered 
 but little mentally, for the ball which struck him down 
 had left him with his reason impaired, and to him it was 
 all the same whether friend or foe had him in keeping. 
 Deprived of everything which could mark his rank as an 
 officer, and always insisting that his name was " Rose," 
 he passed for a demented creature, whom the brutal sol 
 diery delighted to torment. Gradually, however, his rea 
 son came back, and he woke to the full horrors of his con 
 dition. Then, like a caged lion he chafed and fumed, and 
 resolved to be free. He could not die there, knowing that 
 far away there was a blithesome little woman waiting for 
 his coming, if, indeed, she had not ceased to think of him 
 as among the living, a state of things which he thought 
 very probable, as he became aware of the fact that no one 
 of his companions was acquainted with his real name. Rose 
 was the only cognomen by which he was known, and the 
 proud man shivered every time he heard that dear name 
 uttered by the coarse, jesting lips around him. A horrid
 
 306 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 suit of dirty grey had been given him in place of the sto 
 len uniform, and though at first he rebelled against the 
 filthy garments, he began ere long to think how they 
 might aid him in his escape, inasmuch as they were the 
 garb of the Confederates. Day and night he studied the 
 best means of escape, until at last the attempt was made, 
 and he stood one dark, rainy night, out on the highway 
 a free man, breathing the pure breath of heaven, and rea 
 dy to sell his life at any cost rather than go back again 
 to the prison he had left. He had put his trust in God, 
 and God had raised him up a friend at once, who had 
 seen him leave the prison, and greatly aided him in his 
 escape, just as he had aided others, knowing the while 
 that by so doing he was putting his own life in jeopardy. 
 But a staunch Unionist at heart, he was willing to brave 
 everything for the cause, and it was through his instru 
 mentality and minute directions that Will Mather had 
 finally reached the shelter of the mountains which separate 
 North Carolina from Tennessee. He had found friends 
 all along the route, true, loyal men, who had periled their 
 lives for him; brave tender women, whose hands had 
 ministered so kindly to his wants, and who had so cheer 
 fully divided with him their scanty meals, even though 
 hunger was written upon their thin, haggard faces, and 
 stared in their sunken eyes. And Will had taken down 
 each name, and registered a vow that if ever he reached 
 the North, these noble self-denying people should be re 
 warded, andif possible removed from a neighborhood 
 where they suffered so much from privation and from the 
 hands of their former friends, who, suspecting their sen 
 timents, heaped upon them every possible abuse. Ragged, 
 bareheaded, footsore and worn, he came at last, at the 
 close of a June day, to the entrance of a cave in the hills 
 to which he had been directed, and where, on the damp
 
 THE HUNTED SOLDIER. 307 
 
 earth, he slept so soundly from fatigue and exhaustion 
 that the morning sun was shining through the entrance 
 to the cave, and a robin, on a shrub growing near, was 
 trilling its morning song ere he awoke. The air, though 
 damp from the water which trickled through the rocks, 
 was close and stifling," and Will crept cautiously out from 
 his hiding-place, and sitting down upon the ground 
 drank in the beauty and stillness of the summer morning. 
 Exactly where he was he did not know, but he felt cer 
 tain that his face was toward the land where the Stars 
 and Stripes were waving, and a thrill of joy ran through 
 his veins as he thought of home and Rose, whose eyes by 
 this time had grown so dim with looking for him. " God 
 take me safely to her," he whispered, when up the moun 
 tain side came the sound of voices and the tramp of feet. 
 Creeping to the farthest side of the cave, and crawling 
 down beneath the shelving rock where the cool waters 
 were dripping, he hoped to avoid being seen. Up to 
 this moment Will's courage had never flagged, but now, 
 when the Federal lines were not many miles away, and 
 Rose and home seemed certain, he felt a great pang of 
 fear, and his white lips whispered, " God pity me ! God 
 help me, God save me, for his own glory, if not for Rose's 
 sake," then, knee-deep in the pool of water, he stood with 
 his body nearly double, while the voices and the feet came 
 nearer, and at last stopped directly in front of his hiding 
 place. 
 
 There, were terrible oaths outside, and bitter denuncia 
 tions were breathed against any luckless Union man 
 who might be lurking near, and then the light from the 
 entrance of the cave was wholly obscured, and Will saw 
 that a man's back was against the opening, as if some 
 one were sitting there. Did they know of the cave ? 
 Would they come in there, and if they did would they 
 find him? Will kept asking himself these questions,
 
 808 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 and his breath came gaspingly as he knew that the man 
 whose back barred the entrance to his hiding-place was 
 the bitterest in his invectives against the Yankees, and 
 the most anxious to find them. Something in his voice 
 and language indicated both education and position su 
 perior to his companions, who evidently looked up to 
 him as their leader, calling him " Square" and acquiescing 
 readily when, after the lapse of ten or fifteen minutes, he 
 suggested that they go higher up the mountain to a 
 gorge where some of the fugitives had heretofore taken 
 refuge. 
 
 Five minutes more and the footsteps and voices were 
 heard far up the mountain, and Will breathed more 
 freely again, and kneeling down in the pool of water, 
 thanked God who had turned the danger aside, and kept 
 him a little longer. He did not dare leave the cave, but 
 he came out from under the rock, and stretching himself 
 upon the ground tried to wring and dry the tatters 
 which hung so loosely upon him. 
 
 It was two days since he had tasted food, and the long 
 fast began to make itself felt in the keen pangs of hun 
 ger. Surely he could venture out toward the close of 
 the day, he thought, and see if there were not berries 
 growing in the ledges, and when the sun was setting he 
 crawled to the mouth of the cavern, where just in the 
 best place for him to see it lay a huge corn-cake and 
 slice of bacon, wrapped nicely in a bit of paper. 
 
 How it came there he did not stop to ask. That it 
 was there was sufficient for him then, and never had the 
 costliest dinner, served on massive silver, tasted to him 
 half so well as did that bit of bacon with the coarse corn- 
 bread. 
 
 Refreshed and encouraged he went back to his hiding- 
 place, intending to start again on his perilous journey
 
 309 
 
 when the mountain path grew dark enough to warrant 
 him in doing so. But soon after the sunsetting a fearful 
 storm came up, and in the pitchy darkness of the cave 
 Will listened to the bellowing thunder roaring through 
 the mountain gorges, and saw from the opening the 
 forked lightning which struck more than one tall tree 
 near the place of his concealment. Fed by the rain 
 which had fallen in torrents, the stream under the pro 
 jecting rock was beginning to rise and spread itself over 
 the surface of the cave. It was up to his ankles now, 
 and it rose so rapidly that Will was thinking of leaving 
 the cave and groping his way as well as he could to the 
 westward, when his quick ear caught the sound as of 
 two or more persons coming stealthily up the moun 
 tain side. Whoever they were they seemed to move 
 with the utmost caution, and Will's heart beat high as 
 he hoped it might be some brother fugitives seeking the 
 shelter of the cave. The gleam of a lantern, however, 
 and the same voice he had heard in the morning cursing 
 the Yankees so bitterly dispelled that illusion, and in a 
 tremor of terror he drew back in his watery quarters, 
 crawling in the darkness to the farthest end of the cav 
 ern, and feeling the rising water flow over his knees as 
 he waited for what might come next. 
 
 " Stay here, Charlie, while I go in. I know he must 
 be here, and if he isn't drowned by this time it's just a 
 special Providence, that's all I have to say." 
 
 Surely that was no unfriendly voice, notwithstanding 
 the oaths of the morning, but still Will did not move 
 until the stranger, who evidently knew every turn and 
 nook of the cavern, was so near to him that the light 
 from the dark 'lantern fell full upon his face and 
 betrayed him at once. There was a thought of Eose, 
 and the freedom he had almost regained, and then for-
 
 810 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 getting the friendly tones, Will gave a low, bitter moan, 
 and stretching out his hands, said imploringly, 
 
 "Kill me here as well as anywhere, and let the sus 
 pense be ended." 
 
 " Kill you, my boy ?" and the stranger spoke cheerily 
 as he bent over poor Will and rubbed his clammy hands. 
 " What should I kill you for ? I've had my eyes on you 
 ever since yesterday evening, when I saw you creeping 
 tinder the brushwood, and knew you were hunting for 
 this cave. The ' Refuge of Safety,' I call it, and it has 
 proved so to many a poor devil who like yourself has 
 taken shelter here. I have never known one to fail of 
 reaching the happy land when once they got so far as 
 this, so cheer up, my man. Paul Haverill can swear a 
 string of swears about the Yanks which will reach from 
 here to Richmond, if necessary, and then when the 
 hounds are thrown off the track he can turn round and 
 save the poor hunted rascal's Life. You are among your 
 friends, so come out from this puddle. You must be 
 wetter than a rat. There's a spring under the rocks, 
 and it rises in a rain so as to fill the cave sometimes. 
 Here, Charlie, give us that shawl, his teeth are fairly 
 chattering." 
 
 Thus talking, the stranger, who had announced him 
 self as Paul Haverill, led Will out to where the boy 
 Charlie stood, holding a bright plaid shawl in his hand, 
 and looking curiously at the worn, drooping, sorry fig 
 ure emerging from the cave. It was a woman's shawl, 
 Will knew, but it was very soft and warm, and he wrapt 
 it closely round him, for he was ^shaking Avith cold, and 
 his tattered garments were wringing wet. Very few 
 words were spoken, and those in a whisper, as they went 
 cautiously down the mountain until they reached what 
 seemed to be a road winding among the hills. This
 
 THE HUNTED SOLDIER. 311 
 
 they did not follow, but, striking into the field or pasture 
 land beside it, kept to the right, and at a safe distance 
 from it, lest some straggler might be abroad, and meet 
 them face to face. Will Mather was enough acquainted 
 with Southern customs not to be surprised to find here 
 in the mountain wilds a substantial and even handsome- 
 looking building, which, with its white walls and green 
 blinds, seemed much like the farm-houses in New Eng 
 land. There was a light shining from the windows, and 
 a woman's brisk step was heard as they went toward the 
 door; Paul Haverill coughing, to give warning of his ap 
 proach. 
 
 " All right !" was the pass-word by which they entered, 
 and Will soon stood in the wide hall which ran through 
 the entire building, and opened in the rear upon a broad 
 piazza. 
 
 " Better take him to Miss Maude's room," the woman 
 said, and Will followed on to an upper chamber, which, 
 he would have known at once belonged to a young lady. 
 
 It was not as elegantly furnished as his own sleeping 
 apartment at home, but it bore unmistakable marks of 
 taste and refinement; while the air of pure gentle wo 
 manhood, which pervaded it, brought Eose very vividly 
 before him. 
 
 "This is my niece's room, Maude De Vere," Mr. Hav 
 erill explained, when they were alone, and Will was dry 
 ing himself before the fire, kindled by the woman who 
 had admitted them, and who, Will saw, was a mulatto. 
 "My niece is not at home now," he continued. "She is 
 in South Carolina; has been gone several months on a 
 visit to old Judge Tunbridge, her mother's uncle. I'm 
 her mother's brother, and she and the boy Charlie have 
 lived with me since the first year of the war. Their fa 
 ther was Captain De Vere, from North Carolina, and was
 
 312 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 killed at the first Bull Hun. Nelly, tlieir mother, never 
 held up her head after that. I was with her when she 
 died, and brought the children home. Maude is twenty 
 now, and Charlie fourteen. I am their guardian. 
 Maude is Union, Charlie secesh, but safe. They have a 
 great deal of property here and there, though how it 
 will come through the war, the Lord only knows." 
 
 Will was glad to see that his host was inclined to talk 
 on without waiting for answers, and he kept quiet, while 
 Mr. Haverill continued: 
 
 "I dare say you wonder to find a chap like me among 
 people who are so bitter against you Yankees, and I 
 sometimes wonder at myself. I am South Carolina born, 
 and ought to be foremost in the rebellion; but hanged if 
 I can see that it is right. Why, I might as well set 
 up a government of my own, here on the Oak Plantation, 
 and refuse to come under any civilized laws Mind, 
 though, I don't think the South all wrong, not a bit of 
 'it. The North did bully us, and the election of Mr. Lin 
 coln was particularly obnoxious to the majority here, 
 but we had no right to secede, and you did your duty 
 trying to drive us back. For a spell I kept quiet, didn't 
 take either side; or if I did, I wanted the South to beat, 
 as all my interests are here. But when our folks got to 
 abusing their prisoners so shamefully, and told so many 
 lies by way of deceiving us fellows who live among the hills 
 and only get the news once or twice a week, I changed 
 my politics, and after the day when I found one of my 
 neighbors, and the best man that ever breathed, too, 
 hung to a tree like a dog, with the word ' Abolitionist ' 
 pinned to his coat, I made a vow that every energy I 
 had should be given to caring for and helping just such 
 wretches as you, and if I've helped one I've helped a
 
 THE HUNTED SOLDIEK. 313 
 
 thousand. "Why, at least a hundred have slept in this 
 very room, Maude's room; for, as I told you, she is 
 Union to the backbone, and led one chap across the 
 mountain herself. She is a regular Di Vernon, and is 
 not afraid of the very de'il. When she went away she 
 bade me put them in here, as the room least liable to 
 suspicion. To the folks around me I am the roughest 
 kind of a Secessionist, and I suppose nobody can beat 
 me swearing about the Yankees, just to hoodwink 'eoa, 
 you know. I suppose that's wrong; my wife would say 
 so; she was a saint when she was here, she is an angel 
 now. Shedied five years ago, before the war broke out; 
 and Lois, the woman you saw, has been my housekeeper 
 since. I shouldn't like the North to take her from me. 
 They tried it once, when a squad of 'em ransacked my 
 house, and I was sick in bed. Maude threatened to 
 blow their brains out: and, sir, she would have done it, 
 too, if the scamps hadn't let Lois alone. 
 
 " I don't agree with your folks on the nigger question, 
 though none of mine has run away since the Proclama 
 tion, which I did not like. They know, too, they are 
 free, or will be when the Yankees come, for I took pains 
 to tell them, and gave them liberty to cut stick for the 
 Federal lines as soon as they pleased; but they staid, and 
 great help I find them in the business I'm carrying on. 
 They are constantly on the lookout for runaways or refu 
 gees, and are quite as good as bloodhounds to scent one. 
 They told me about you, and I watched and saw you go 
 into that cave, which is on my land, and which few know 
 about, or if they do they think it a springhole, and never 
 dream that anybody can hide in there. Somebody else 
 must have seen you, too, for word came that a man was 
 hiding in the mountains, and as the acknowledged leader 
 of as hard a set as ever hunted a Yankee, I went with 
 14
 
 314 ROSE MATHER 
 
 'em to find you, and carried in my pocket that bacon 
 and corn bread which I managed to drop into the cave 
 when I sat with my back against it. I knew you must 
 be hungry, and it might be some time before I could 
 come to your aid. We didn't find the chap; but to-mor 
 row they'll be at it again, and so, while I help 'em hunt 
 for a man about your build, you will stay in the room 
 in Lois's charge. Maude has a good many gimcracks 
 here, such as books and things, which may amuse you. 
 She is coming home by and by. The house is very dif 
 ferent then. You ought to see Maude. We are very 
 proud of her. That's her picture, only not half so good- 
 looking," and he pointed to a small oil painting hanging 
 above the mantel. 
 
 It was a splendid head, and the glossy black hair 
 bound about it in heavy braids gave it a still more regal 
 look. The eyes, too, were black, but very soft and gen 
 tle in their expression, though something about them 
 gave the impression that they might flash and blaze bril 
 liantly under excitement. It was a beautiful face, and 
 Will did not wonder that his host was proud of 
 his niece, prouder even than of the pale-faced, delicate 
 boy, who next day, while the hunt for the runaway went 
 on among the mountains, tried to entertain Will Mather 
 by telling him of his old home in North Carolina, and 
 how happy they were there before the war came and 
 took his father away. 
 
 " I don't see it in the light Uncle Paul and sister do," 
 Charlie said. " I don't want them to catch and tormeiV; 
 the prisoners, or murder folks who don't think as they 
 do; but I do want our side to succeed, and when I hear 
 of a victory I say ' Hurrah for the Confederacy !' I can't 
 help it when I think of father, who was killed by the 
 Yankees, and all the trouble the war has brought. I'm
 
 THE HUNTED SOLDIER. 315 
 
 willing to work like a dog for the refugees and prisoners, 
 and I'd die sooner than betray one, but if I -was a man 
 I'd join Mr. Davis's army sure." 
 
 The pale face of the boy was flushed all over, and his 
 dark eyes burned with Southern fire as he frankly 
 avowed his sentiments, and Will Mather could not re- 
 press a smile at this noble specimen of a Southern rebel. 
 
 "I like you, my boy, for your frankness," he said, 
 " and when the war is over, I shall have to send for you 
 to come North and be cured of your treason." 
 
 " It is not treason" and the boy stamped his girlish 
 foot. "It is not treason any more than the views held 
 by the Revolutionary soldiers. Didn't the colonies se 
 cede from England, and does anybody call Washington a 
 traitor now ? I tell you it is success which decides the 
 nature of the thing. If we succeed, future historians will 
 speak of us as patriots, as a persecuted people, who gave 
 our lives in defence of our homes and firesides." 
 
 " You won't succeed, my poor boy. The Confederacy 
 is gasping its last breath. You will be conquered at the 
 last, and then what have you gained ?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing but ruin!" and the tears poured 
 over the white face of this defender of Southern rights. 
 
 Soon recovering himself, however, he exclaimed, 
 proudly : 
 
 "We may be conquered, but not subjugated. \ou 
 can't do that with all your countless hordes of men, and 
 your millions of money. The North can never subjugate 
 the South. We may lay dowa our arms because we have 
 no other alternative, but w^ shall still think the same, 
 and feel the same as we donow." 
 
 Here was a curious stidyfor Will Mather, who was 
 surprised to find such maturity of thought and so strong 
 determination in one sc young and fraiL
 
 316 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 " No wonder it is hard to conquer a people composed 
 of such, elements," he thought, and he was about to con 
 tinue the conversation when he was startled by a loud 
 blast from a horn among the hills. 
 
 " They've caught some one. They always do that as 
 a kind of exultation," the boy exclaimed, wringing his 
 hands, and evincing as much distress as he had hereto 
 fore shown bitterness against the opposing party. 
 
 It was a poor refugee from a neighboring county, 
 whom, in spite of Paul Haverill's precautions, they had 
 found in a hollow tree, and whom they brought more 
 dead than alive down to the Oak Plantation, amid vocif 
 erous cries of "Tar and feather him!" " Hang him to a 
 sour-apple tree!" "Give him a taste of the halter!" 
 " Make him an example to all other sneaking Yankee 
 sympathizers !" 
 
 With his face as white as marble, and his lips set firm 
 ly together, Paul Haverill stood in the; midst of the noisy 
 group which he tried to quiet. 
 
 " Let us try him by jury," he said, and something in 
 his voice reassured the frightened, haggard wretch, who 
 had seen his house burned down and his son shot before 
 his very eyes, and of course expected no mercy. . 
 
 The trial by jury proved popular, and then Paul Hav 
 erill suggested that a judge be chosen in the person of 
 some one who had lost a near friend in the war, and was 
 of course competent to mete out full justice to the crim 
 inal " Charlie, for instance," and his eye fell on the 
 boy, who had joined the crowd and was standing close 
 by the prisoner. The boy caught his uncle's meaning at 
 once, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Yes, let me be the judge. My father was killed at 
 Bull Kun. My mother died cf. grief. Surely I may 
 decide."
 
 THE HUNTED SOLDIER 317 
 
 Charlie De Vere was a fa,vorite with the men, who 
 knew how staunch a Confederate he was, and, waiving the 
 trial for want of time, they said: 
 
 " Charlie shall decide whether we hang, drown, whip, 
 or tar and feather the prisoner at the bar." 
 
 Then, with far more energy and fire than had charac 
 terized his vindication of the South, Charlie De Vere 
 pleaded for the criminal, that they would let him go. 
 "Just this once, for father's sake, and mine, and 
 Maude's," he said; and, at the mention of Maude, the 
 dark brows began to clear, and the scowling faces grew 
 more lenient in their expression, for Maude De Vere was 
 worshiped by the rough men of the mountains, who, 
 though they knew her sympathies were on the Union 
 side, made an exception in her favor, and held her per 
 son and opinions sacred. For her sake, they would let 
 their captive go, giving him warning to leave the neigh 
 borhood at once, nor let himself be seen again in their 
 midst while the war lasted. 
 
 And thus it chanced that Will Mather had a compan 
 ion in his wanderings, which were renewed the following 
 day; the boy Charlie acting as guide through the most 
 dangerous part of the way, and at last bidding him 
 good-bye, with great tears in his eyes, as he said: 
 
 "I hope you won't be caught; but I don't know, the 
 woods are full of our soldiers. Travel at night, and hide 
 through the day. Trust no one, but the negroes; and if 
 you are captured, ask for mercy in sister's name. Every 
 body knows Maude De Vere."
 
 318 BOSE MATHER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVUL 
 
 THE DEAD ALIVE. 
 
 T was the night of the third of July, the anniver 
 sary, as she supposed, of her husband's death, 
 $1 and Rose was sitting up unusually late. She 
 could not sleep for thinking of one year ago, and the 
 white-faced man who lay upon the battle-field with the 
 rain falling upon him. 
 
 It was a clear starlight night, and she leaned many 
 times from her open window and looked up at the kindly 
 eyes keeping watch above her. But she did not see the 
 figure coming down the street and up the walk to their 
 own door; the figure of a worn-out soldier, who from 
 the prison at Salisbury had escaped to Tennessee, and 
 had come from thence straight on until the midnight 
 train dropped him at the Rockland station. 
 
 The light was behind her, and Will saw her distinctly 
 as he went up the avenue, and he stopped a moment to 
 look at her. She was very pale, and much thinner than 
 when he saw her last, but never, even on her bridal day, 
 had she seemed so beautiful to him as then, when lean 
 ing from her window, and apparently listening for some 
 thing. 
 
 It was the sound of his footsteps as he came up the 
 walk which had attracted her attention, and when it 
 ceased so suddenly as he stopped under the trees, she 
 felt a momentary pang of fear, for burglars had been very 
 common in the town that summer. Possibly this was 
 one of the robbers, and Rose was thinking of alarming 
 the house, when the figure emerged from under the
 
 THE DEAD ALIVE. 319 
 
 shadow of the trees, and came directly up beneath the 
 window, while a voice which made Rose's blood curdle 
 in her veins, called softly, 
 
 "Rose, darling, is it you?" 
 
 Had the dead come back to life ? "Was that her hus 
 band's voice, and that his step in the lower hall ? Rose 
 had supposed the front door bolted. She had not heard 
 it open, and now, when the steps sounded upon the 
 stairs, her heart gave one throb of fear, as all the old 
 superstitious stories of New England lore rushed to her 
 mind. Perhaps on this anniversary of his death he had 
 come back to see her. And perhaps 
 
 Rose did not finish the sentence, for the opening of 
 her own door disclosed the wasted figure of a man wear 
 ing the army blue, his face very pale, but lighted up with 
 perfect joy as he stretched his arms toward the shrink 
 ing woman by the window, and said: 
 
 " Come to me, darling; I am no ghost." 
 
 Then she went to him, but uttered no sound. Her 
 heart was too full for that, and seemed bursting from 
 her throat as she laid her head upon the bosom of her 
 husband, and felt his arms around her waist and neck. 
 Her stillness frightened him, it was so unlike her, and 
 lilting her from the floor, he took her in his lap, and said 
 to her: 
 
 " Speak to me, Rose. Let me hear your voice once 
 more. You thought I was dead, and you've been so 
 sorry." 
 
 "Yes, killed at Gettysburg," came gaspingly at last; 
 and then a storm of tears and kisses fell upon Will's face, 
 and Rose's arms were thrown about his neck as she tried 
 to tell him how great was her joy to have him back 
 again. 
 
 " I have been so lonely," she said, " for everybody ia
 
 320 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 gone. Jimmie, and Annie, and poor Tom, too, is a pris 
 oner at last, so mother and I are all alone, except " 
 
 Just then it occurred to her that her husband had no 
 suspicion of the great joy in store for him. 
 
 " How shall I tell him ?" she thought, and her eyes 
 went from his face to the basket and chair where baby's 
 clothes were lying. 
 
 The little white dress, with its shoulder knots of blue ; 
 the flannels and the soft wool socks were all there in 
 plain sight, and Will saw them, too, as his eye followed 
 Eose's. 
 
 " Rose, tell me, what is that ? "What does it mean ?" 
 he asked, and then, without a word, Eose led him into 
 the adjoining room, where in his crib slumbered her 
 beautiful boy, their beautiful boy rather. He was hers 
 alone no longer, for the father was there now, and the 
 happiest moment he had ever known was that when he 
 knelt by his baby's cradle, and felt how much he had for 
 which to thank his Maker. He could not wait till morn 
 ing before he heard the sound of his first-born's voice, 
 and he took him at once in his arms, every pulse thrilling 
 with pride and exquisite delight, as he felt the soft, baby 
 hands in his own, and looked into the beautiful dark 
 eyes which met his so wonderingly as baby awoke and 
 gazed up into his face. It was not afraid of him, and 
 Eose almost danced with joy as she saw it smile in its 
 father's face, and then turn slily away. 
 
 " It was so terrible till baby came last Christmas," she 
 said, beginning to explain how they believed him dead, 
 and how much she had suffered. " Even baby did not 
 make me as glad as it ought," she continued, " for I could 
 not forget how happy you would have been to come 
 home and find him here, and now you've come. God is 
 very, very good; I love him now, Will, better, I hope, than
 
 THE DEAD AIJVE. 321 
 
 I love you, or baby, or anything. I've given baby to Him, 
 and given myself, too, but he had to punish me so hard 
 before I would do it." 
 
 Then together the re-united couple knelt and thanked 
 the Father who had remembered them so mercifully, and 
 asked that henceforth their lives might be dedicated to 
 his service, and all they had be subject to his will. 
 There was no more sleep in the Mather mansion that 
 night, for by the time Mrs. Carleton and the servants had 
 recovered from their surprise and joy, the early morning 
 was red in the east, and the sun was just beginning to 
 show the returned soldier how pleasant and beautiful 
 his home was looking. 
 
 The people of Eockland had not intended to have 
 much of a celebration on that Fourth of July. The 
 churchyard was too full of soldiers' graves, and the war- 
 clouds were still too dark over the land, while the battle 
 of the Wilderness, where so many had perished, was too 
 fresh in their minds to admit of much festivity ; but 
 when it was known that Will Mather had come home the 
 town was all on fire with excitement. Every bell was 
 rung, and the cannon of Bill Baker memory bellowed 
 forth its welcome, while in the evening impromptu fire 
 works attested to the people's delight. Then followed 
 many days of delicious quiet in which Will told his wife 
 and mother the story of his wanderings, but said very 
 little of his life in Salisbury. That was something he 
 could not mention without a shudder, and so he passed 
 it over in silence, choosing rather to tell of his journey 
 across the mountains, where so many friendly hands had 
 been stretched out to help him. He had every name 
 upon paper, and was only waiting for an opportunity to 
 show his gratitude in some tangible form. Especially 
 was he grateful to Paul Haverill, whose name became a
 
 322 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 household word, together with that of Charlie and Maude 
 De Vere. Of her Eose thought so often, wishing she 
 could see her, and resolving when the war was over 
 either to write at once or go all the way to the Moun 
 tains of Tennessee to find her. 
 
 " Poor Tom !" she often sighed. " If he could only fall 
 into so friendly hands." 
 
 But everything pertaining to Tom was shrouded in 
 gloom. The last they heard he was in Columbia, while 
 Jimmie still pined in Andersonville, if indeed he had not 
 died amid its horrors. Exchanged prisoners were con 
 stantly arriving at Annapolis, where both Mrs. Simms 
 and Annie were, and every letter from the latter was 
 eagerly torn open by Rose in hopes that it might con 
 tain some news of her brothers. But there was none, 
 and the mourning garments which, with her husband's 
 return, were exchanged for lighter, airier ones, seemed 
 only laid aside for a few weeks until word should come 
 that one or both of her brothers were with the dead 
 whose graves were far away beneath a Southern sky. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 ^ree captives, "Will Mather, Jimmie, and 
 Tom, the latter had suffered the least as a pris- 
 oner of war. A strong Freemason, he had 
 found friends at Columbia, where chance threw in his 
 way a near relation of his dead wife and a former class 
 mate. Though firmly believing in the Southern cause, 
 Joe Haskell from the first befriended Captain Carle ton,
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 323 
 
 whom he finally helped io escape, giving him money, and 
 so far as he was able, directions where to go and whom 
 to ask for aid. Tom's imprisonment had been of short 
 duration, and thus it was, with vigor unimpaired and 
 spirits unbroken, that he found himself free on that very 
 night when Will Mather lay sleeping in the cave among 
 the mountains of Tennessee. But that "Refuge of 
 Safety " was many, many miles away, and Tom's route to 
 the land of freedom was a longer and far more Danger 
 ous one than Will's had been. Still Tom had iarTiis fa 
 vor health and strength, together with a knack of pass 
 ing himself off as a Southerner whenever an opportu 
 nity was presented, and so for a week or more he 
 proceeded with comparatively little trouble ; but at 
 the end of that time dangers and difficulties beset him 
 at every step, while more than once death or recapture 
 stared him in the face, either from the close proximity of 
 his pursuers,, or the pertinacity of the blood-hounds 
 which were set upon his track. Escape at times seemed 
 impossible, and Tom's courage and strength were begin 
 ning to give way, when one night, toward the last of 
 June, he found himself in a negro cabin, and an occupant 
 of a bed whose covering, though impregnated with the 
 peculiar odor of the sable-hued faces around him, seemed 
 the very embodiment of sweetness and cleanliness to the 
 tired and foot-sore man, who nearly all his life had slept 
 in the finest linen, with lace or silken hangings about his 
 bed. For linen now there was a ragged quilt, and the 
 bed was festooned with cobwebs, while from the black 
 ened rafters hung bundles of herbs and strings of pep 
 pers, alternated here and there with the grimy articles of 
 clothing which old Hetty had washed that day for her 
 own "boys," and in consequence of the rain had hung in 
 her cabin to dry. Coarse, heavy shirts they were, but
 
 324 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 Tom, as he watched them drying on the pole, fell to 
 coveting the uncouth things, and thought how soft and 
 nice they, would feel on his rough flesh. Then he 
 thought of home and Eose, and wondered what she 
 would say could she look in upon him in that negro hut, 
 with all those stalwart boys sitting by, while Hetty, their 
 mother, cooked the corn-cake, and fried the slice of 
 bacon for supper. Two sat just where Tom could see 
 them, while, the third was near the door, keeping a 
 constant watch on the circuitous path leading from the 
 cabin to a large dwelling on the knoll, " Marsr's house," 
 where to-night a number of young people were assem 
 bled in honor of the return of the son and heir, Lieut. 
 Arthur, who had been in so many battles, and had a 
 taste of prison life at the North. 
 
 Though bitterly opposed to the Unionists, Arthur was 
 truthful, almost to a fault, as some of his auditors 
 thought to whom he was recounting the incidents of his 
 prison life. Comfortable beds, decent bread, well-cooked 
 meat, with plenty of pure air and wat&r, he had received 
 from the hands of his enemies; and once, when for a 
 few days he was sick, he had been fed with toast and 
 jelly, and tea quite as good as Hetty could make, he 
 said. And while he talked more than one present 
 thought of the Southern prisons, where so many men 
 were dying from starvation and neglect; and one young 
 girl's eyes flashed angrily, and her nostrils quivered with 
 passion as she burst out with the exclamation: 
 
 " That's the story most of our prisoners tell when they 
 come back to us. Think you a like repoii will be car 
 ried North, if the poor wretches ever live to get there ? 
 I think it a shame to allow such suffering in our midst." 
 
 This speech, which had in it the ring of Unionism, did 
 not startle the hearers as much as might be expe.tf"i.
 
 THE HEKOINE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 325 
 
 They were accustomed to Maude De Vere's outspoken 
 way, and they knew that when she first came among them 
 she was on the Federal side, and had opposed the seces 
 sion movement with all the force of her girl nature. As 
 yet no harm had been threatened her, for Maude was one 
 to whom all paid deference, aud her clear arguments 
 touching the right of secession had done much toward 
 keeping alive a feeling of humanity for our prisoners in 
 the family where for months she had been a guest. 
 
 Squire Tunbridge or Judge, as he was frequently 
 called was her near relative, and as his only daughter 
 had died only two years before, and he was very lonely in 
 his great house, he had invited Maude to visit him, and 
 insisted upon her staying as long as possible. At first 
 he had laughed at her Yankee preferences, but when the 
 deaths at Salisbury and Andersonville increased so fast, 
 he shook his head sadly and protested against the cruel 
 ty and neglect of the government. " He did not believe 
 in killing men by inches," he said; "better shoot them at 
 once." And still he would not willingly have harbored 
 a runaway on his premises, for fear of the odium which 
 would attach to him if the fact were known. 
 
 And so, when late that night, while Tom lay sleeping 
 in Hetty's cabin, and Hetty, up at the big house, was 
 waiting upon the guests and making secret signs to Maude 
 De Vere, there came a band of men into the yard in pur 
 suit of an escaped Yankee, the Squire roused at once, 
 saying that no one could possibly be hidden on his plan 
 tation unless the blacks had secreted him. The negro 
 houses were close by; they could look for themselves. He 
 had supposed his servants loyal, but there was no telling 
 in these perilous times; and the old man's face flushed as 
 his Southern blood fired his zeal for the Southern cause. 
 
 In her evening dress of white, with her bands of glossy
 
 326 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 black hair bound like a coronet around her regal brow ; 
 Maude De Vere stood leaning upon the piano, her eyes 
 shining like burning coals, and her lips slightly parted 
 as she listened to the conversation, and then darted an 
 anxious glance toward the spot where Hetty had been 
 standing a moment before. But Hetty had disappeared, 
 and under cover of darkness was running and rolling and 
 slipping down the steep wet path, which led to her cabin 
 door. 
 
 Arrived there, she seized the sleeping Tom by the arm, 
 and exclaimed: 
 
 " Wake up, mars'r, for de dear lord's sake ! De Sesh- 
 ioners is come, and will be here in a minute ! I'm mighty 
 'fraid even Miss Maude can't save you!" 
 
 Tom was awake in a moment and fully alive to the 
 danger of his condition. From the house on the knoll, 
 he could hear the excited voices of his pursuers, and the 
 sound made every pulse throb with fear. 
 
 "Tell me what to do," he said, and Hetty replied, 
 
 "Kin you bar smotherin' for a spell? If you kin, git 
 under de ole straw tick, and lie right still and flat, and 
 you, Hal, buckle into marsr's place, as if 'twas you who've 
 been lyin' here all the time." 
 
 Tom did not hesitate a moment, and had just straight 
 ened himself under the straw bed, and drawn a long 
 breath as he felt Harry's body settling down above him, 
 when steps were heard coming down the path, and a 
 young man's voice asked of Hetty if she had any strangers 
 there "any Yankees, you know; because if you have " 
 the young man paused a moment and peered out into 
 the night to make sure that no one was listening, then, in 
 a whisper, he added, " Keep them safe, and remember, 
 Fieetfoot knows all the passes of the mountains between 
 here and Tennessee."
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE MOUNTAIN". 327 
 
 A suppressed " thank God !" might almost have been 
 heard beneath the straw bed, while old Hetty ex 
 claimed, 
 
 " The Lord bless Mars'r Arthur, and Miss Maude, too ! 
 I know it is her do ins." 
 
 And Hetty was right, for Tom Carleton owed his es 
 cape from that great peril, to Maude De Vere rather 
 than to Lieutenant Arthur. When the order was given 
 to search the negro quarters, Arthur had seen that in 
 Maude's face which constrained him to follow her when 
 she beckoned to him to come out upon the piazza. 
 
 "Arthur," she said, putting her lips to his ear, "re 
 member the kind treatment you received from your en 
 emies, and be merciful. Don't let them find him, for 
 there is a Yankee soldier down in Hetty's cabin. She 
 told me to-night. Search her house yourself. Throw 
 them off the track. Anything to mislead them. Be 
 merciful. Do it, Arthur, for my sake." 
 
 Always beautiful, Maude De Vere was dazzlingly so 
 now, as she stood before the young officer pleading for 
 Tom Carleton, and Arthur Tunbridge was more influenced 
 by her beauty, than by any party feelings. Assuming a 
 fierce, determined manner, he went back to the pursuers 
 and said, 
 
 " It's perfectly preposterous that one of those Unionists 
 should come here for protection, when it is well known 
 what we are. Still it may be. There's no piece of ef 
 frontery they are not capable of. I know them well, just 
 as I knew every nook and corner of the negro cabins. 
 Stay here, gentlemen, and take some refreshment while I 
 search the quarters myself." 
 
 Arthur Tunbridge wore a lieutenant's uniform. He 
 had been in the army from the very first; he had fought 
 in many a battle; had been a prisoner for four months,
 
 328 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 while his father was known to be a staunch secessionist, 
 who was ready to sacrifice all he had for the success ol 
 the cause he believed to be so just and righteous. There 
 could be no cheating in such a family as this, and so, 
 while Maude De Vere wore her most winning smile, and 
 with her own hands served cake and coffee to the soldiers, 
 Lieutenant Arthur went on his tour of investigation, and 
 brought back word that not a trace of a runaway had he 
 found, notwithstanding that every cabin on the premises 
 had been visited. A savage oath was the answer to this 
 report, but something in Maude's eyes kept the soldiers 
 in check and made them tolerably civil, as they mounted 
 their horses, and with a respectful good-night, rode off 
 in an opposite direction. 
 
 With a feeling of security after hearing from Hetty of 
 Maude De Vere, Tom came out from his hiding-place 
 and ventured to the open door of the cabin, where he 
 stood looking at the " big house " on the hill, from which 
 the guests were just departing. He could hear their 
 voices as they said good night, and fancied he could de 
 tect the clear, well-bred tones of Maude De Vere, in 
 whom he began to feel so deeply interested. He could 
 see the flutter of her white dress as she stood against 
 a pillar of the piazza, with Arthur at her side, but her 
 back was toward him, and he could only see her well- 
 shaped head, which sat so erect and proudly upon her 
 shoulders. She was very tall, Tom thought, comparing 
 her with Mary, Annie, and petite Rose as she walked 
 across the piazza with Arthur, who, from comparison 
 seemed the. shorter of the two. Profoundly grateful to her 
 as his probable deliverer, Tom went back into the cabin 
 and began to question Hetty with regard to the young 
 lady. "Who was she, and where did she live, and how 
 came she so strong a Unionist?
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 329 
 
 " She's Miss Maude De Vere, bred and born in the old 
 North State, somewhars near Tar Eun." Aunt Hetty said. 
 "Her father was killed at first Bull Eun, and then 
 her mother died, and she went to live 'with her uncle off 
 toward Tennessee in de hills. She's got an awful sight 
 of money, and heaps of niggers, lazy, no count crit 
 ters, who jest do nothing from morn till night. She and 
 Miss Nettie, Mars'r Tunbridge's gal, was great friends 
 at school, and Miss Maude was here when she died, and 
 has been here by spells ever since. Young mars'r think 
 she mighty nice, but dis chile don't 'zactly know what 
 Miss Maude do think of him. Eeckon he's too short, or 
 too s essionary to suit her." 
 
 This was Hetty's account of the young lady, who at 
 that very moment was listening with a defiant look upon 
 her face to Arthur Tunbridge's remonstrance against 
 what he termed her treasonable principles. 
 
 " They will get you into trouble yet. The war is not 
 over, as some would have you think. The North is 
 greatly divided. Be warned of me, Maude, and do not 
 run such risks as you do by openly avowing your Union 
 sentiments. Think what it would be to me if harm 
 should befall you, Maude." 
 
 Arthur spoke very gently now, while a deep flush 
 mounted to his beardless cheek, but met with no reflec 
 tion from Maude De Vere's face. Only her eyes kindled 
 and grew blacker, if possible, as she listened to him, 
 first with scorn, when he spoke of treason, and then 
 with pity when he spoke of himself, and the pain it 
 would cause him if harm should come to her. 
 
 Maude knew very well the nature of the feelings with 
 which her kinsman, young Arthur Tunbridge, regarded 
 her. At first she had been disposed to laugh at him, and 
 his preference for an Amazon, as she styled herself; but Ar-
 
 330 BOSE MATHEE. 
 
 thur had proved by actual measurement that in point of 
 height he excelled her by half an inch, while the register 
 showed that in point of age he had the advantage of her 
 by more than four years, though Maude seemed the 
 elder of the two. 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Arthur, nor entertain fears for me," 
 she said. " I am not afraid of Gen. Lee's entire army, 
 nor Grant's either, for that matter. My home at Uncle 
 Paul's has been beset alternately by either party, and I 
 have held a loaded pistol at the heads of both Federal 
 and Confederate, when one was for leading away Char 
 lie's favorite horse, and the other for coaxing off old 
 Lois to cook the company's rations. No, I am not 
 afraid, and if necessary I will guide that poor wretch 
 down in Hetty's cabin safely to Tennessee." 
 
 Arthur's face grew dark at once, and he said, half 
 angrily: 
 
 "Maude, let that man alone; let them all alone. It is 
 not womanly for you to evince so much interest in such 
 people. For your sake I'll help this one get away, but 
 that must be the last; and remember, it is done for your 
 sake, with the expectation of reward. Do you consent 
 to the terms ?" 
 
 Maude's nostrils quivered as she drew her tall figure 
 to its full height, and answered back : 
 
 " I could not prize the love I had to buy. No, Arthur; 
 I have told you once that you are only my brother, just 
 as Nettie was my sister. Believe me, Arthur, I cannot 
 give you what you ask." 
 
 She spoke gently, kindly, now, for she pitied the young 
 man whose sincerity she did not doubt, but whose love 
 she could not return. He was not her equal, either 
 physically or mentally, and the man who won Maude De 
 Vere must be one to whom she could look up to as a
 
 THE HEKOKSTE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 331 
 
 superior. Such an one she would make very happy, but 
 she would lead Arthur a wretched, miserable life, and she 
 knew it, and would save him from herself, even though 
 there were many kindly, tender feelings in her heart foi 
 the young lieutenant. 
 
 She saw that he was angry with her, and as further 
 conversation was useless, she left him and repaired to 
 her room, the windows of which overlooked Hetty's cabin. 
 
 And there until daylight the noble girl sat watching 
 lest their unwelcome visitors of the previous night, fail 
 ing to find their victim, should return and insist upon 
 another search. As Maude De Vere said, she had held a 
 loaded pistol at the head of both Federal and Confede 
 rate, when her uncle was sick, and the house was beset 
 one week by one of the belligerent parties and the fol 
 lowing week by the other. She was afraid of nothing, 
 and Tom Carleton, so long as she stood his sentinel, had 
 little to fear from his pursuers. But she could not ward 
 off the fever which for many days had been lurking in 
 his veins, and which was increasing so fast that when 
 the morning came he was too sick to rise, and lay moan 
 ing with the pain in his eyes and complaining of the 
 heat, which, in that dark corner of the close cabin, and 
 on that sultry summer morning, was intolerable. 
 
 " Mighty poorly, with face as red as them flowers in 
 yer ha'r, and the veins in his forehead as big as my leg," 
 was the word which Hetty brought up to Maude De 
 Vere the next morning, and half an hour later Maude, 
 in her pale buff cambric wrapper, with her black hair 
 shining like satin, went down to Hetty's cabin and stood 
 beside Tom Carleton. 
 
 He was sleeping for a few moments, and the drops of 
 perspiration were standing on his forehead and about 
 his lips. He was not worn and emaciated, like the most
 
 332 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 of the prisoners and refugees whom Maude had seen. 
 His complexion, though bronzed from exposure, had not 
 that peculiar greyish appearance common to so many of 
 the returned prisoners, while his forehead was very 
 white, and his rich brown hair, damp with the perspira 
 tion, clung about it in the soft, round curls so natural to it. 
 
 There was nothing in his personal appearance to awaken 
 sympathy on the score of ill-treatment, and yet Maude 
 felt herself strangely drawn toward him, guessing with 
 a woman's quick perception that he was somewhat above 
 many whom it had been her privilege to befriend. And 
 Maude, being human, did not like him less for that. On 
 the contrary, she the more readily brushed away the flies 
 which were alighting upon his face, and with her own 
 handkerchief, wiped the moisture from his brow, and 
 then felt his rapid pulse. 
 
 " He ought not to stay in this place," she said, and she 
 was revolving the propriety of boldly asking Squire Tun- 
 bridge if he might be removed to the house, when Tom 
 awoke and turned wonderingly toward her. 
 
 He knew it was Maude De Vere, and something in her 
 face riveted his attention, making him wonder where he 
 had seen somebody very like her. 
 
 " You are sick," she said to him kindly, as he attempted 
 to rise on his elbow, and fell back again upon the squalid 
 bed. "I am afraid you are very sick, but you are safe 
 here, that is, yes, I know you are safe. None but 
 fiends would betray a sick man." 
 
 She spoke rapidly, and Tom saw the bright color 
 deepen in her cheek, and her eyes flash with excite 
 ment. She was very beautiful, and Tom felt the influ 
 ence of her beauty, and tried to draw the ragged quilt 
 over him so as to hide the coarse, grey shirt Hetty had 
 given him, and which was as unlike the immaculate linen
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 338 
 
 Tom Carleton was accustomed to wear as it was possible 
 to be. 
 
 " You are Miss De Vere, I'm sure," lie said, " and you 
 are very kind. I shall not tax your hospitality long. I 
 hope to go on to-night. Don't stay here, Miss De Vere; 
 you must be uncomfortable. It's hotter here than in 
 Massachusetts." 
 
 " You are from New England, then ?" Maude asked, 
 and Tom replied: 
 
 " From Boston, yes, your people hate us most of all 
 I believe," and Tom tried to smile, while Maude answer 
 ed him, 
 
 " It makes no difference to me whether you are from 
 Maine or Oregon. You are sick and have come to us for 
 succor. I'll do what I can to help you." 
 
 With the last words she was gone, her tall, lithe figure 
 bending gracefully under the low doorway, and the rus 
 tle of her fresh, clean garments leaving a pleasant sound 
 in Tom Carleton's ears. 
 
 " A sick Yankee down in Hetty's cabin, a Boston one 
 at that, with his "Wendell Phillips notions, and you want 
 me to let him be brought up to this house, the house of a 
 Southern gentleman, who, if he hates one of the dogs 
 worse than another, hates the Massachusetts kind, whose 
 women have nothing to do but to write Abolition books 
 about our niggers. No, indeed; he shall not come an 
 inch, and by the Harry I'll send for the authorities and 
 have him bundled off to jail before night, with his camp 
 fever, and his Boston airs. Needn't talk. See if I don't 
 do it, and I'll have Hetty strung up and whipped for har 
 boring the villain. Treason under my very nose, and a 
 Yankee, too! Go away, go away, I tell you. I won't
 
 334 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 hear you. I hate 'em all for the cussedness there is in 
 'em." 
 
 This was Squire Tunbridge's reply to Maude De Vere, 
 who had told him of Tom Carleton, and asked permis 
 sion to have him moved up to the house. Nothing 
 daunted, Maude went close up to him, and her beautiful 
 eyes looked straight into his as she said : 
 
 "Think if it was Arthur sick among his enemies. 
 They were kind to him, he says, and remember Nettie, 
 too. Had she lived she would have married a Northern 
 man. You liked Robert, and Nettie loved him. For her 
 sake let this man be brought to the house. He will die 
 there, where it is so close." 
 
 " Serve him right for coming down here to fight us ; 
 wish they were all dead. How are you going to get the 
 rascal up that confounded hill ? Can he walk ?" 
 
 Maude had gained her point, and with Mrs. Tunbridge, 
 who had a soft, kind heart, she hastened to make ready 
 a large, airy chamber, somewhat remote from the rooms 
 occupied by the family and their frequent guests. It was 
 not the best room in the house, but he would be safer 
 there than elsewhere, and Maude made it as inviting as 
 possible, by pulling the bed out from the corner to the 
 centre of the room, covering the plain stand with a clean, 
 white towel, and the table with a gaily-colored shawl of 
 her own. Then with Hetty and one of Hetty's sons she 
 started for the cabin, followed by the Squire himself. 
 Since the war began he had not seen a Yankee, and curi 
 osity as much as anything took him to Tom Carleton, 
 whom he assailed with a string of epithets, telling him 
 " to see what he'd got by making war on people so much 
 better than himself. Good enough for you," he contin 
 ued, as, assisted by Hetty and Claib, Tom tried to walk 
 up the winding path, with Maude in front and the Squire
 
 THE HEROINE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 335 
 
 in the rear. "Yes, good enough for you, if you die like 
 a dog, and I dare say you will. Fevers go hard with yon 
 Bunker Hill chaps. Claib, you villain, you are letting 
 him fall. Don't you see he hasn't strength to walk ? 
 Carry him, you rascal!" And thus changing the nature 
 of his tirade the Squire thrust his cane against Tom's 
 back by way of assisting him up the hill. 
 
 He was human if he was not quite consistent, and his 
 face was very red, and he was very much out of breath 
 when the house was reached at last, and Tom was com 
 fortably disposed in bed. 
 
 "For thunder's sake, Hetty, take that grey, niggery 
 thing off from him," the Squire said, pointing to the 
 coarse shirt Tom had thought so nice, when he exchanged 
 it for his dirty uniform. " If you women are going to 
 do a thing, do it decent. Arthur's shirts won't fit him, 
 I reckon, for Arthur ain't bigger than a pint of cider, 
 but mine will. Fetch him one, and for gracious sake 
 souse him first in the bath-tub. He needs it bad, for 
 them prison pens ain't none the neatest according to the 
 tell." 
 
 In spite of his aversion to the Boston Yankees, the 
 Judge had taken the ordering of this one into his own 
 hands, and it was to him that Tom owed the refreshing 
 bath which did him so much good, and abated the force 
 of the fever, which nevertheless ran high for many days, 
 during which time Maude nursed him as carefully as if 
 he had been her brother. Arthur was absent when the 
 "moving occurred, but when he found that it was done, 
 and the Yankee was actually an inmate of his father's 
 house, he concluded to make the best of it, merely re 
 marking that "they would be in a pretty mess if the 
 story got out of their harboring a prisoner." 
 
 The Judge knew that, and in fancy he saw his house
 
 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 burned down, and himself, perhaps, ridden on a rail by 
 his justly incensed neighbors. The fear wore upon him 
 terribly, until a new idea occurred to him. Maude, as 
 everybody knew, had long been talking of going back to 
 Tennessee, and what more natural than for Paul Haver- 
 ill to send an escort for her in the person of some 
 cousin or other, who was foolish enough to fall sick im 
 mediately after his arrival. This was a Kmart thought ; 
 and as that very day at least a dozen people called at the 
 Cedars, as the Judge called his place, so the dozen were 
 told of "John Camp," sick abed up stairs, "kind of 
 cousin to Maude, and sent to see her home, by her Uncle 
 Paul." 
 
 " Right smart chap," the Judge said, feeling amazed at 
 the facility with which he invented falsehoods when once 
 he began. " Been a guerrilla there in the mountains, and 
 done some tall fightin', I reckon." 
 
 This was the Judge's story, which his auditors be 
 lieved, wondering, some of them, why the visitor should 
 occupy that back chamber in preference to the hand 
 some rooms in front. Still they had no suspicion of the 
 truth. " John Camp " was accepted as a reality, and 
 kind inquiries were made after his welfare, as, day after 
 day, the fever ran its course, and Maude De Yere bent 
 over him, bathing his forehead, smoothing his pillows, 
 and brushing his hair, her white fingers insinuating queer 
 fancies into his brain, as, half unconscious, he felt their 
 touch upon his face, and saw the soft eyes above him. 
 
 At first Arthur had kept aloof from Tom, but as the 
 latter grew better, he yielded to Maude's entreaties and 
 went in to see him, feeling intuitively that he was in the 
 presence of a gentleman as well as of a superior. He 
 could not dislike him, for there was something about Tom 
 Carleton which disarmed him of all prejudice, and many
 
 ARTHCTK AND MAUDE. 337 
 
 a quiet, friendly talk tlie two had together on the all- 
 absorbing topic of the day. 
 
 " He is a splendid fellow, if he is a Yankee," was Ar 
 thur's mental verdict, "and fine-looking, too, finer a 
 hundred times than I," and then there crept into his 
 heart a fear lest Maude should think as he did, and ere , 
 he was aware of it, he found himself fiercely jealous of 
 one who was at his mercy, and whom, if he chose, he 
 might have removed so easily. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ARTHUR AND MAUDE. 
 
 >OM CAELETON was able to start on his journey 
 westward. Twice he had left his room and 
 joined the family below, making himself so 
 agreeable, and adapting himself so nicely to all the 
 Judge's crotchets that the old man confessed to a genu 
 ine liking for the Yankee rascal, and expressed himself as 
 unwilling to part with him. He had inquired into his 
 family history, and, to his infinite delight, found that the 
 elder Carleton, Tom's father, was the very lawyer whose 
 speech years ago, had been instrumental in sending back 
 to bondage the Judge's runaway negro, Hetty's husband, 
 whose grave was out by the garden wall, and whose wife 
 and sons had rendered so different a service to the law 
 yer's son. 
 
 Tom's face was scarlet when he thought of the differ 
 ence, and remembered how his father had worked to 
 prove that the master was entitled to his property wher- 
 
 15
 
 338 EOSE MATHEK. 
 
 ever it was found. The Judge suspected the nature of 
 his thoughts, and with a forced laugh, said, good- 
 hum oredly: 
 
 "You are more of an abolitionist than your father 
 was, I see. Well, well, young man, times change, and 
 we change with them. Old man Carleton did me a good 
 turn, for Seth was worth two thousand dollars. I never 
 abused him, nor gave him a blow when I got him back. 
 I only asked him how he liked freedom as far as he had 
 gone, and he didn't answer. He seemed broke down 
 like, and in less than a year he died. He was the best 
 hand I ever had, more'n half white. I cried when he 
 died. I'll be hanged if I didn't. I told him to live 
 and I'd set him free, and when I see how his eyes 
 lighted up I made out his papers on the spot, and 
 brought 'em to him, and he died with 'em in his hand, 
 held so tight we could scarcely get 'em out, and I had 
 'em buried with him in his coffin. 
 
 " ' Thank you, mars'r, God bless you for letting me die 
 free, but it's come too late. I would worked for you, 
 mars'r, all the same, if you'd done this before. I wanted 
 to be a man, and not a thing, a brute. You have been kind 
 to me mars'r; thank you, thank you for liberty.' 
 
 " These are Seth's very words. I got 'em by heart, 
 and I said them so much that I began to wonder if free 
 dom wasn't better than slavery. But, bless you, my 
 niggers was about all I had. I couldn't give 'em up, 
 though I used to go out to Seth's grave and think how 
 he hugged the papers to the last, and wonder if the 
 clause 'all men are born free and equal,' didn't mean the 
 blacks. Bat the pesky war broke out, and drove all this 
 from my head. I hate the Yankees, I hate Lincoln. I 
 hate the whole Union army, though I'll be blamed if I 
 can hate you. Got a wife, hey ?"
 
 ARTHTJK AND MAUDE. 339 
 
 He turned abruptly to his guest, who had listened with 
 so breathless interest to the story of poor Seth, that he did 
 not see Maude De Vere, her eyes shining, and her cheeks 
 flushed, as if she were under some strong excitement. 
 
 Between herself and Arthur there had been a long 
 conversation concerning Captain Tom Carleton, and 
 other matters of greater interest to Maude. The " John 
 Camp " ruse had succeeded well, and Maude had a fancy 
 for making it do still more, by taking her patient in 
 safety as far as her Uncle Haverill's. She had received 
 several letters from her uncle, urging her to come home, 
 and in a week at most she was going. As one who had 
 been expressly sent as her escort, Mr. Carleton would of 
 course go with her, and in order to make the journey 
 with perfect safety she would have Arthur go too, and it 
 was of this that she had spoken to him that morning 
 when she found him in a little summer-house at the rear 
 of the long garden. There was a dark shadow on Ar 
 thur's face, as he listened to Maude's proposition, and 
 when she had finished speaking, he replied: 
 
 "I intend to go with you, provided I am not ordeied 
 back to the army, but, Maude, I will not have tliat Ya/i- 
 kee soldier hanging on to us. We have done that for 
 him which imperils our lives, and now that he is able to 
 go on, let him take his chance alone. If he is one half 
 as keen as Yankees think themselves to be, he will get 
 through unharmed. No, I won't have him in our way." 
 
 "But think of the dangers to be encountered, the 
 hordes of guerrillas which infest the mountains," Maude 
 pleaded, and in her earnestness she laid both her hands 
 on Arthur's shoulder, and stood leaning over him. 
 
 " Maude De Vere," and Arthur spoke very decidedly, 
 " why are you so much interested in this man ? TeD me, 
 and tell me truly, too, have you learned to cai* for
 
 340 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 him more than you would for a common soldier, had such 
 a one come to you as a runaway Yankee ? If you have, 
 Maude," and Arthur's face was white with determina 
 tion, " if you have, by the heavens above us, I'll put a 
 bullet through him myself, or worse than that, send him 
 back to where he came from." 
 
 " That would be an act worthy of a Tunbridge and a 
 Southern gentleman," Maude said, bitterly, and some 
 thing in her tone warned Arthur that he had gone too 
 far, so changing his tactics, he said more gently: 
 
 " Sit here beside me, Maude, and listen to what I have 
 to say. You know that I have loved you ever since I 
 
 v */ 
 
 knew the meaning of the word, and it is not in my nature 
 to give up what my heart is set upon. You have 
 refused me, but that does not matter. I want you 
 for my wife ; I must have you for my wife. I know 
 you are my superior, and I am willing it should be 
 so. You can fashion me into anything you like. I 
 have screened, and hidden, and lied for that Yankee 
 Carleton, just to gratify you. And when I first con 
 sented to act the traitor's part, I supposed he was most 
 likely some coarse, ignorant boor, but he is not. Re 
 turning health shows him to be a well-bred gentleman, 
 and decidedly good-looking, so much so that I have 
 been jealous of him, Maude, not knowing to what your 
 strange opinions might lead you." 
 
 " You know of course he has a wife," dropped scorn 
 fully from Maude's lips, and Arthur started quickly. 
 
 "No, Maude, I did not know it. How came you by 
 the knowledge? Did he tell you so?" 
 
 "Not directly, but when he was out of his head, or 
 asleep, he talked of Rose, and Annie, and Mary, and he 
 called the latter his wife. That is the way I know," 
 Maude said, and Arthur's face cleared at once. 
 
 " Forgive me, Maude. I was a fool to be jealous of
 
 AETHUR AKD MAUDE. 341 
 
 him. And now let us come to a final understanding. 
 You have laughed at, and browbeaten, and queened it 
 over me for years, but I have never despaired of winning 
 you at the last. Once for all, then, will you be my wife ? 
 I must have you. I cannot be denied." 
 
 Arthur was in earnest now, and his pleadings were 
 eloquent with the love he felt for the girl, who listened 
 in silence, and then said to him : 
 
 " Arthur, it cannot be. I should make you very un 
 happy. We do not agree in any one point." 
 
 "But we will agree. I promise to conform to your 
 opinions in everything. I'll guide this man to Tennes 
 see, and give myself in future to the work of saving and 
 helping the entire Yankee army. I'll be a second Dan 
 Ellis if you like. I'll do anything but take the oath to 
 the Union. I've sworn to stand by the other side. I 
 cannot break my word even for you, Maude." 
 
 Maude did not like him less for that last. There was 
 Southern fire in her heart as well as his, and Southern 
 blood in her veins, and though she clung to the old flag, 
 there were moments when she felt a flush of piide in her 
 misguided brothers, who fought so like heroes and be 
 lieved so heartily in their cause. 
 
 "Say, Maude," Arthur continued, "will you be my 
 wife if I will do all this. Think how many lives I might 
 save, and how much suffering relieve; there are so many 
 chances where I could do good, for no one would sus 
 pect me. Give me some hope, Maude. Speak to me." 
 
 She was sitting with her face buried in her hands, as 
 -many another maiden has sat, " counting the cost." All 
 her life long, Arthur Tunbridge had followed her with 
 his love, till she was tired of the contest. Nothing she 
 had ever said disheartened him. No rebuff, however 
 severe, had availed to keep him quiet. She knew he
 
 342 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 loved her, and perhaps she might in time love him. It 
 would make the old Judge and his wife so happy, while 
 Charlie liked Arthur so much. Other people liked him, 
 too. He was very popular, and she well knew that she 
 was envied by many a proud maiden for the attentions 
 of the agreeable Lieut. Tunbridge. Besides, if Arthur 
 pledged himself to help the escape of prisoners, he would 
 keep his word, and so through her much good might be 
 done, and hearts made happy perhaps. Others had 
 willingly sacrificed their lives for their country, and why 
 should she shrink from sacrificing her happiness, if by 
 it so many lives could be saved ? Was it not her duty 
 to cast self aside and think only of the suffering she 
 could relieve with Arthur as her ally. Maude was selling 
 herself for her country, and with one great throb of bit 
 ter pain, she said at last : 
 
 "I will deal frankly with you, Arthur, as I always 
 have. You are not disagreeable to me. I like you very 
 much as a friend. I miss you when you are away, and 
 am glad when you come back ; still, you are not just 
 what I have imagined my future husband to be. I Uke you 
 for the good I know there is in you, and I may learn to 
 love you. I shall lead you a horrid life if I do not, for 
 it is not in my nature to affect what I do not feel. If I 
 cannot love you, I shall learn to hate you, and that will 
 be terrible." 
 
 She was looking at him now, and though he winced a 
 little beneath the blazing eyes, she looted so grand, 
 so beautiful, that, foolish youth as he was, he fancied 
 her hate would be preferable to losing her, and so he 
 said: 
 
 " Go on, Maude, I am not afraid of the hatred if you al 
 ways look as you do now."
 
 MAUDE AST) TOM. 343 
 
 Something like contempt leaped to her eyes then, but 
 she put it aside, and continued: 
 
 " I will promise only on conditions. You shall see this 
 Mr. Carleton safely to my Uncle Paul's. You shall be 
 friend and help every runaway you chance to find. You 
 shall relieve every suffering Union soldier when an op 
 portunity occurs. You shall use your influence for the 
 prisoners, and seek to ameliorate their wretched condition. 
 If you do this, Arthur, and do it faithfully, when the 
 war is over I will try to answer yes. Are you satisfied ?" 
 
 It was a very one-sided affair, and Arthur knew it; but 
 love for Maude De Vere was the strongest passion of 
 which he was capable, and he answered: 
 
 " I am satisfied," and kissed the cold hand which 
 Maude placed in his, and thought what a regal creature 
 he had won, and thought, too, how implicitly he would 
 keep the contract, even if it involved a giving up of Jef 
 ferson Davis himself into the enemy's hands. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXL 
 
 MAUDE AND TOM. 
 
 T was then that Maude left him and went back 
 to the house, where, standing in the door, she 
 scanned the face and person of the man for 
 whose safety in part she had pledged her heart and hand. 
 Tom's tout ensemble was good, and there was about him 
 a certain air of grace and culture which showed itself in 
 every movement. A stranger would have trusted him 
 in a moment, and recognized the true manhood in his 
 expressive face. And Maude recognized it, as she never
 
 344: ROSE MATHER. 
 
 had before, and the contrast between him and Arthtu 
 struck her plainfully. 
 
 " If Arthur were more like him, I could love him bet 
 ter," she thought, just as the Judge asked the abrupt 
 question : 
 
 " You have a wife, hey ?" 
 
 " Of course he has," Maude thought, and still she lis 
 tened for the answer. 
 
 " My wife died some years ago, before the war broke 
 out. She was a Mary Williams, a near relative of the 
 Williamses of Charleston. Perhaps you know them ?" 
 
 " Know 'em ! I'll bet I do ! the finest family in the 
 State. And you married one of them?" the old Judge 
 said, his manner indicating an increased respect for the 
 man who had married a Williams of Charleston. 
 
 Maude knew the family, too, or rather knew of them, 
 and remembered how, some years before, when she was 
 at St. Mary's, she had heard a Charleston young lady 
 speaking of a Mrs. Carleton from Boston, who had re 
 cently died, and whose husband had been so kind and 
 patient and tender, and was " the most perfectly splendid 
 looking man she ever saw." 
 
 Maude remembered this last distinctly, because it had 
 called forth a reproof from the teacher who had overheard 
 it, and who asked what kind of a man " the most perfectly 
 splendid-looking " one could be. Maude had not thought 
 of that incident in years, but it came back to her now as 
 she stood close to the man who had been so kind and 
 tender to his sick, dying wife. He would be all that, she 
 knew, for his manner was so quiet and grave and gentle, 
 and then a great throb of pain swept over Maude De 
 Vere as she thought of Arthur and the pledge she had 
 given him. Maude could not analyze her feelings, or un 
 derstand why the knowing who Tom Carleton was, and
 
 MAUDE AND TOM. 345 
 
 that he was also free, should make the world so desolate 
 all on a sudden, and blot out the brightness of the sum 
 mer day which had seemed so pleasant at its beginning. 
 
 " I did it in part for him," she said, feeling that in 
 spite of her pain there was something sweet even in such 
 a sacrifice. 
 
 She was still standing in the door, when Tom, turning 
 a little more toward his host, saw her, his face lighting up 
 at once, and the smile, which made him so handsome, 
 breaking out about his mouth and showing his fine 
 teeth. 
 
 " Ah, Miss De Vere, take this seat," and with that well- 
 bred politeness so much a part of his family, he arose and 
 offered her his chair. 
 
 But Maude declined it, and took a seat instead upon a 
 little camp stool near to the vine-wreathed columns of 
 the piazza. 
 
 It was very pleasant there that morning, and Maude, 
 sitting against that back-ground of green leaves, made a 
 very pretty picture in her pink cambric wrapper, trimmed 
 with white, white pendants in her ears, and a bunch of 
 the sweet scented heliotrope in her hair, and at her throat 
 where the smooth linen collar came together. And Tom 
 enjoyed the picture very much, from the crown of satin 
 hair, to the high-heeled slipper, with its bright ribbon ro 
 sette. It was not a little slipper, like those which used 
 to be in Tom's dressing-room in Boston, when Mary was 
 alive, nor yet like the fairy things which Rose Mather 
 wore. Nothing about Maude De Vere was small, but 
 everything was admirably proportioned. She wore a 
 seven glove and she wore a four boot. She measured just 
 twenty-five inches around the waist, and five feet six from 
 her head to her feet, and weighed one hundred and forty. 
 A perfect Amazon, she called herself; but Tom Carleton
 
 346 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 did not think so. He knew she was a large type of 
 womanhood, but she was perfect in form and feature, 
 and he would not have had her one whit smaller than she 
 was, neither did he contrast her with any one he had 
 ever known. She was so wholly unlike Mary and Rose 
 and Annie, that comparison between them was impos 
 sible. She was Miss De Vere, Maude he called her to 
 himself, and the name was beginning to sound sweetly 
 to him, as he daily grew more and more intimate with 
 the queenly creature who bore it. He had buried his 
 pale, proud-faced, but loving Mary; he had given up the 
 gentle Annie, and surely he might think of Maude De 
 Vere if he chose; and the sight of her sitting there before 
 him with the rich color in her cheek, and the Southern 
 fire in her eyes, stirred strange feelings in his heart, and 
 made him so forgetful of what the Judge was saying to 
 him, that the old man at last rose and walked away, 
 leaving the two young people alone together. Tom had 
 never talked much to Maude except upon sick-room topics, 
 and he felt anxious to know if her mind corresponded 
 with her face and form. Here was a good opportunity for 
 testing her mental powers, and in the long, earnest conver 
 sation which ensued concerning men, and books, and poli 
 tics, Tom sifted her thoroughly, experiencing that pleasure 
 which men of cultivation always experience when thrown 
 in contact with a woman whose intelligence and endow 
 ments are equal to their own. " Maude's education had 
 not been a superficial one, nor had it ceased with her 
 leaving school. In her room at home there was a small 
 library of choice books, which she read and studied each 
 day together with her brother Charlie, whose education 
 she superintended. Few persons North or South were 
 better acquainted with the incidents and progress of the 
 war, than she was. She had watched it from its beginning,
 
 MAUDE AND TOM. 347 
 
 and with her father, from whom she had inherited her 
 superior mind, she had held many earnest argumentative 
 discussions concerning the right and wrong of secession. 
 Maude had opposed it from the first, but her father had 
 thought differently, and carrying out his principles, had 
 lost his life in the first battle of Bull Run. Maude spoke 
 of him to Tom, and her fine eyes were full of tears as she 
 told of the dark, terrible days which preceded and fol 
 lowed the news of his death. 
 
 " The ball which struck him down went further than 
 that; it killed mother, too, and made us orphans," Maude 
 said, and something in the tone of her voice, and the ex 
 pression of her face, puzzled Tom just as it had many 
 times before, and carried him back to Bull Run, where it 
 seemed to him he had seen a face like Maude De Vere's. 
 
 "Was your father killed in battle?" Tom asked, and 
 Maude replied: 
 
 " No, sir; that is, he did not die on the battle-field. 
 He was waunded, and crawled away into the woods, 
 where they found him dead, sitting against a tree, with a 
 little Union drummer-boy lying right beside him, and 
 father's handkerchief bound round the poor bleeding 
 stumps, for the little hands were both shot away. I've 
 thought of that boy so often," Maude said, "and cried for 
 him so much. I know father was kind to him, for the little 
 fellow was nestled close to him, Arthur said. He was 
 there, and found my father, though he did not at first 
 recognize him, as it was a number of years since he had 
 seen him." 
 
 Tom was growing both interested and excited. He 
 was beginning to find the key to that familiar look in 
 Maude De Vere's face, and, coming close to her he said : 
 
 "Were any prisoners taken near your father, Miss Da 
 Vere ? Union prisoners, I mean ?" 
 
 "Yes," Maude replied. Arthur was a private, then,
 
 348 HOSE MATHER. 
 
 and, with another soldier, was prowling through the woods 
 when they came upon father, and two Union soldiers 
 near him, one a boy, Arthur said, and one an officer, 
 whose ankle had been sprained. In their eagerness to cap 
 ture somebody they forgot my father, and carried off the 
 man and boy. Then they went back, and Arthur found, 
 by some papers in the dead soldier's pocket, that it was 
 father, and he had him decently buried at Mariassas, with 
 the little boy. I liked Arthur for that. I would never 
 have forgiven him if he left that child in the woods. 
 When the war is over, I am going to find the graves." 
 
 She was not weeping now, but her eyes had in them a 
 strange glitter as they looked far off in the distance, as if 
 in quest of those two graves. 
 
 "Maude De Yere," Tom Carleton said, and at the 
 sound, Maude started and blushed scarlet, " you must 
 forgive me if I call you Maude this once. It's for the 
 sake of your noble father, by whose side I stood when 
 the spirit left his body, and went after that of the little 
 drummer-boy, whose bleeding stumps were bound in 
 your father's handkerchief. I remember it well. I had ' 
 sprained my ankle, and, with a lad of my company 
 was trying to escape, when I heard the sound of some 
 one singing, that glorious chant of our church, ' Peace on 
 earth, good will toward men.' It sounded strangely 
 there, amid the dead and dying, who had killed each 
 other; but there was peace between the Confederate captain 
 and the Federal boy, as they sang the familiar words. As 
 well as we could, we cared for him. I wiped the blood' 
 from your father's wound, and the boy brought him water 
 from the brook, while he talked of his home in North 
 Carolina; of his children who wpuld never see him again; 
 and of Nellie, his wife. It comes back to me with per 
 fect distinctness, and it is your father's look in your eyes
 
 MAUDE AND TOM. 349 
 
 and face which has puzzled me so much. Two soldiers 
 wearing the Southren grey came up and captured us, 
 and we were taken to Richmond. Surely, Miss De Vere, 
 it is a special providence which has brought me at last 
 to you, the daughter of that man, and made you the 
 guardian angel, who has stood between me and recapture. 
 There is a meaning in it, if we could only find it." 
 
 Toin's fine eyes were bent upon Maude, and in his ex 
 citement he had grasped her hand, which did not lie as 
 cold and pulseless in his as an hour before it had lain 
 in Arthur's. It throbbed and quivered now, but clung to 
 Tom's with a firm hold, which was not relaxed even when 
 Arthur came up, his face growing dark and threatening 
 as he saw the position of the two. 
 
 Maude did not care for Arthur then, or think what 
 that look in Tom's kindling eyes might mean. She only 
 remembered that the man whose hand held hers so firmly, 
 had ministered to her dying father, had held the cup of 
 water to his parched lip, had wiped the flowing blood 
 from his face, and spoken to him kindly words of sym 
 pathy. 
 
 Here was the answer to her prayer, that God would 
 send her somebody who could tell her of her father's last 
 minutes. The somebody had come, and, in her gratitude 
 to him, she could almost have knelt and worshiped him. 
 
 "Oh, Arthur !" she cried, " Captain Carleton is the very 
 man you and Joe Newell captured at Bull Eun. He was 
 with father when he died; he took care of him, and was 
 so kind until you came and took him." 
 . And Maude's eyes flashed with anything but affection 
 upon her lover, who for a moment could not speak for 
 his surprise. 
 
 Curiously he looked at Tom, seeking for something on 
 which to fasten a doubt, for he did not wish Maud
 
 350 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 to have a cause for gratitude to the Northern officer 
 But the longer he gazed the less he doubted. * The face 
 of the lame officer in the Virginia woods came up distinct 
 ly before him, and was too much like the face confront 
 ing him to admit of a mistake, especially after Maude re 
 peated the substance of what she had heard from Captain 
 Carleton. Arthur was convinced, and as Maude dropped 
 Tom's hand, he took it in his, and said: 
 
 " It is very strange that my first prize, over whose cap 
 ture I felt so proud, should fall again into my power. 
 But this time you are safe, I reckon. I am older than I 
 was three years ago, and not quite so thirsty for a Yan 
 kee's blood. You did Maude's father good service, it 
 seems, and to prove that we rebels can be grateful and 
 generous even to our foes, I will take you under my pro 
 tection as one of my party, when I escort Maude home to 
 Tennessee, as I intend doing in a few days." 
 
 Maude's face was white with passion as she listened to 
 this patronizing speech, which had in it so much of as 
 sumed superiority over the man who smiled a very pecu 
 liar kind of smile, as he bowed his acknowledgment of 
 Arthur's kind attentions. Not a hint was there that 
 Maude was head and front of the arrangement, that for 
 Tom's sake she had pledged herself to one whose infe 
 riority never struck her so painfully as now, when she 
 saw him side by side with Captain Carleton. Arthur did 
 not care to have Captain Carleton know how much he 
 was indebted to Maude for his present pleasant quarters, 
 and his prospect of a safe transfer to the hills of Tennes 
 see. But Tom, though never suspecting the whole truth, 
 did know that his gratitude for past and present kind 
 ness received from that Southern family was mainly due to 
 Maude, whom he admired more and more, as the days 
 wore on, and he learned to know her intimately. The
 
 MAUDE AND TOM. 851 
 
 shy reserve which since his convalescence she had mani 
 fested toward him, passed with the knowledge that he 
 had stood by her dying father, and she treated him as a 
 friend with w.hoin she had been acquainted all her lifa 
 long. Occasionally, as something in Tom's manner made 
 her think that but for Arthur she might perhaps in time 
 bear that relation toward him, which Mary Williams had 
 borne, she felt a tierce throb of pain and a sense of such 
 utter desolation, that she involuntarily rebelled against 
 the life before her. But Maude was a brave, sensible girl. 
 She had chosen her lot, she reasoned, and she woidd 
 abide by it, and make Arthur as happy as she could. 
 He was fulfilling his part of the contract well, as was 
 proven by the terror-stricken creature, whom he hal 
 found hiding on the plantation, and had brought to 
 Hetty's cabin; where he now lay so weak, that it was 
 impossible to take him along on that journey to Tennes 
 see. 
 
 " His time will come by and by," Arthur said, when 
 Maude expressed anxiety for him. " I'll land him safely 
 at your Uncle Paul's some night when you least expect it. 
 My business now is with you and your Yankee captain." 
 
 Maude had asked that for the present nothing should 
 be said with regard to their engagement. And so, 
 though the Judge suspected that some definite arrange 
 ment had been made between his son and Maude, he did 
 not know for certain, even when she stood before him at 
 tired for the journey. 
 
 The Judge was sorry to part with Maude, and he was 
 sorry to part with Tom. He liked him because he was 
 a gentleman if he was a Yankee, and because his father 
 had sent Seth back, (poor Seth, with his free papers in his 
 coffin, ) and because he had been kind to Maude's father, 
 and married Mary "Williams, of the Charleston "Williamsea
 
 352 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 and could smoke a cob-pipe, and enjoy it. These were 
 the things which recommended Tom to the old man, who 
 shook his hand warmly at parting, saying to him; 
 
 " I hate Northern dogs mostly, but hanged if I don't 
 like you. May you get safely home, and if you do, my 
 advice is to stay there, and tell the rest of 'em to do 
 the same. They can't whip us, no, by George, they 
 can't, even if they have got some advantage. The papers 
 say it was all a strategical trap, and we'd rather you'd 
 have the places than not. You can't take Richmond, no, 
 sir ! "We will die in the last ditch, every mother's son 
 of usj and what is left will set the town on fire, and let 
 it go to thunder !" 
 
 The old Judge was waxing very eloquent for a man 
 who had one Union soldier recruiting in Hetty's cabin, 
 and was bidding good-bye to another; but consistency 
 was no part of war politics, and he rambled on, until 
 Arthur cut him short by saying they could wait no longer. 
 "With Arthur as a safeguard in case of an attack from Con 
 federates, and Tom Carleton in case of an assault from the 
 Unionists, Maude felt perfectly secure, and in quiet and 
 safety she accomplished her journey, and was welcomed 
 with open arms by Paul Haverill and Charlie. Arthur 
 could only stop for a day among the hills. He might be 
 ordered back to his regiment at any time, and if he got 
 that other chap through he must be bestir himself, he said ; 
 and so he bade good-bye to Maude, in whom he had im 
 plicit faith, and whose sober, quiet demeanor he tried to 
 attribute to her sorrow at parting with him. 
 
 " She does like me some, and by and by she will like 
 me better," he said, as he went his way, leaving her 
 standing in the doorway of her uncle's house, her face 
 very pale, and her hands pressed closely together, as if 
 forcing back some bitter thought or silent pain.
 
 SUSPICION. 353 
 
 Turning once ere the winding road hid her from view, 
 Arthur kissed his hand to her gayly, while with a wave 
 of her handkerchief she re-entered the house, and neither 
 guessed nor dreamed how or when they would meet 
 again. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXH. 
 
 SUSPICION. 
 
 jATJDE DE VERE had insisted that Captain 
 Carleton should have her room, inasmuch as he 
 would be more secure there; for, if the house 
 was suspected and searched, a catastrophe Paul Haverill 
 was constantly anticipating, no one would be likely to in 
 vade the sanctity of her apartment. 
 
 And Tom found it so very pleasant, and quiet, and 
 home-like, that he was not at all indisposed to linger for 
 several days, particularly after Paul found an opportunity 
 for sending to the Federal lines a letter, which would 
 tell the anxious friends in Rockland of his safety. This 
 letter, which was directed to Mrs. William Mather, had 
 been the direct means of Tom's ascertaining that his 
 brother-in-law was not only alive, but had once shared 
 in the hospitalities now so freely extended to himself. 
 After learning this, Tom could not forbear tearing open 
 the envelope, and adding in a postscript: 
 
 "I have just heard that Will was, not many weeks since, a guest 
 in this very house where I am so kindly cared for. God bless the 
 noble man who has saved so many lives, and the beautiful girl, his 
 niece. I cannot say enough in her praise. I do believe she would 
 die for a Unionist any day. Will, it seems, did not see her, as sha
 
 354 EOSE MATHER 
 
 was away when he was here; and perhaps it is just as well for you, 
 little Hose, that he did not There is something in her eye, and 
 voice, and carriage, which stirs strange thoughts and feelings in the 
 hearts of us, savages, who have so long been deprived of ladies' so 
 ciety. She is a very queen among women." 
 
 That postscript was a most unlucky thought. The first 
 part of Toin's letter had been so guarded with regard to 
 the people who befriended him, that no harm to them 
 could possibly have accrued from its falling into hostile 
 hands; but in the postscript he forgot himself, and as 
 sumed forms of speech which pointed directly to Paul 
 Haverill and his niece, Maude De Vefe. And so the 
 guerrillas, who caught and half killed the refugee en 
 trusted with the letter, set themselves at once at work 
 to find the " noble man who had the beautiful niece." 
 It was not a difficult task; and Paul Haverill, who had 
 been looked upon as so rank a Secessionist, was sud 
 denly suspected of treason. 
 
 Paul was popular and dangerous; while Maude De 
 Vere, whose principles were well known, was too much 
 beloved by the rough mountaineers, to allow of harm 
 falling upon her at once. But the writer of that letter, 
 the "Yankee Carleton" should not go unpunished, 
 and just at sunset one afternoon, Lois, who had been at 
 a neighboring cabin, came hurrying home, with that 
 ashen hue upon her dark face which is the negro's sign 
 of paleness. 
 
 " Mass'r Paul was suspicioned of harborin' somebody," 
 she said; and already the hordes of mountaineers were 
 assembling around the Cross Roads, and concerting 
 measures for surprising and entrapping the Yankee. 
 " Chloe tell me she hear 'em say if they was perfectly 
 sure 'bout mass'r, and it wasn't for Miss Maude, they'd
 
 SUSPICION. 355 
 
 set the house on fire; and they looks mighty like they'a 
 fit to do it. The wust faces, Miss Maude, and they doea 
 swar awful 'bout the Yankee. They's got halters, and 
 tar and feathers, and guns." 
 
 Lois was out of breath by this time, and even if she 
 had not been, she would have paused with wonder at 
 the face of her young mistress. Maude had listened in 
 tently to the first part of Lois's story, but felt no emo 
 tion save that of scorn and contempt for the men as 
 sembled at the Cross Roads, and whom "Uncle Paul 
 could manage so easily;" but when it came to the halter 
 for the Yankee, her face turned white as marble, and in 
 that moment of peril, she realized all that Captain Carle- 
 ton was to her, and knew what had been the result of 
 the last week's daily intercourse with one so gifted and 
 so congenial. She knew too that he was not for her. 
 Arthur Tunbridge stood in the way of that. She would 
 keep her faith with him, but she would save Captain 
 Carleton, or die. 
 
 "Lois," she said, and there was no tremor in her voice, 
 "bring that dress I gave you last Christmas, the one 
 you think is so long. Your shawl and bonnet, too, and 
 shoes; bring them to Captain Carleton's room." 
 
 Lois comprehended her mistress at once, and hurried 
 away to her cabin after the dress, whose extra length 
 she had so often deplored, saying " it wasn't for such as 
 her to wear switchin' trains like the grand folks." 
 
 Meanwhile Maude had communicated with her uncle, 
 who manifested no concern except for his guest, and 
 even for him he had no fears provided he could reach 
 the cave in safety. To accomplish that was Maude's 
 object, and as the Cross Roads lay in that direction a 
 great amount of tact and. skill was necessary. But
 
 356 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 Maude was equal to any emergency, and half an hour 
 later there issued from Paul HaverilTs door, two figures 
 clad in female garments, and whom a casual observer 
 would have sworn were Maude De Vere and her servant 
 Lois. Maude had a revolver in her pocket, and another 
 in the basket she carried so carefully, and which was 
 supposed to contain the cups of jelly and custard she 
 was taking a poor sick neighbor, whose house was up 
 the mountain path. At her side, with the shuffling gait 
 peculiar to Lois, Tom Carleton walked, his nicely black 
 ened face hidden in the deep shaker which Lois had 
 worn for years, and his calico dress flopping awkwardly 
 about his feet. Lois fortunately was very tall, and so 
 her skirts did good service for the young man, whose 
 powers of imitation were perfect, and who walked and 
 looked exactly like the old colored woman watching his 
 progress from an upper window, and declaring that she 
 would almost " swar it was herself." 
 
 At her side stood Charlie, a round spot of red burning 
 on either pale cheek, and his slender hands grasping a re 
 volver, while occasionally his blue eyes looked eagerly 
 along the mountain road, which as yet was quiet and 
 lonely. 
 
 " I never thought to raise my hand against my own 
 people," he said, " but if they harm Uncle Paul I shall 
 shoot somebody." 
 
 The sun had been gone from sight for some little time, 
 and the tall mountain shadows were lying thick and 
 black across the valley, when up the road several horse 
 men came galloping, and Paul Haverill's house was ere 
 long surrounded by a band of as rough, savage looking 
 men as could well be found in the mountains of Tennessee. 
 Calmly and fearlessly Patfl Haverill went out to meet
 
 SUSPICION. 357 
 
 them, asking why they were there, and why they seemed 
 so much excited. 
 
 For a moment his old power over them asserted itself 
 again, and they hesitated to charge him with treason, as 
 they intended doing. But only for a brief space was 
 there a calm, and then amid oaths and imprecations, and 
 taunting sneers, and threats, they told him of the let 
 ter, and deriding him as a traitor, demanded the sneak 
 ing Yankee who had written that letter, and was now 
 hidden in the house. To reason with such people was 
 useless, and Paul Haverill did not try it. Standing upon 
 his doorstep, with his grey hair blowing in the evening 
 wind, and his hands deep in his pockets, he said, 
 
 "I admit your charge in part. There has been a 
 Union soldier in my house, an escaped prisoner from 
 Columbia. I did care for him, and I am neither ashamed 
 nor afraid to own it. Fear is a stranger to old Paul 
 Haverill, as any of you who tries to harm him will find." 
 
 "Never mind a speech, Paul," said the leader of the 
 men. " Nobody wants to hurt you, though you deserve 
 hanging, perhaps. "What we want is the Yankee. Fetch 
 him out, and let's see how he'll look dangling in the air." 
 
 " Yes, fetch him out," yelled a dozen voices in chorus. 
 " Bring out the Yankee, we want him. Hallo, puny face, 
 are you a bad egg, too ?" they continued, as Charlie ap 
 peared in the door. 
 
 "Shall I fire, Uncle Paid?" Charlie asked, and his 
 uncle replied, 
 
 " By no means, unless you would have them on us like 
 wolves. Friends," and he turned to the mob, which had 
 been increased by some twenty or more, "friends, that 
 man is gone; he is not here; he has left my house. You 
 can search it if you like." 
 
 " Where's Miss De Vere ?" a coarse voice cried. " We
 
 358 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 know her to be Union. She never tried to cover that as 
 you, hoary old villain, did. She was out and out. Let 
 her come and say the Yankee is gone and we will believe 
 her." 
 
 " My niece, I regret to say, is not just now in either. 
 She is gone with Lois to take some nicknacks to a sick 
 neighbor." 
 
 " That's so, boys. I met her myself as I came down 
 the mountain," called out a young man of the company, 
 who seemed to be superior to his associates. 
 
 " Gone with Lois, hey ? Then whose woolly pate is 
 that?" responded a drunken brute, who, rising in his 
 stirrups, fired a shot toward the garret window from 
 which Lois in an unguarded moment had thrust her 
 head. 
 
 Others had seen her, too, and as this gave the lie to 
 the story that Lois was gone, the maddened crowd 
 pressed against the house, declaring their intention to 
 search it and hang any runaway they might find secreted 
 here. It never occurred to them that the runaway could 
 have been with Maude in Lois's clothes; but the young 
 man who met the two lone women saw the ruse at once, 
 and influenced by Maude's beauty and the remembrance 
 of the sweet " Good evening, Mark," with which she had 
 greeted him as he passed, he made his way to Charlie's 
 side and whispered, 
 
 " If you know where your sister has gone, and can warn 
 her, do so at once. Tell her if she is tolerably safe to 
 stay there and not return here to-night." 
 
 Charlie needed no second bidding, and stealing from 
 the rear of the house he was soon speeding up the moun 
 tain path in the direction of the cave. Meanwhile the 
 search in Paul Haverill's house went on. Closets were 
 thrown open; beds were torn to pieces; cellars were
 
 IN THE CAVE. 859 
 
 ransacked, and old Lois was dragged from the ash-house, 
 where she had taken refuge, while, worse than all, Tom 
 Carleton's boots were found in the chamber where he 
 had dressed so hurriedly, and the sight of these mad 
 dened the excited crowd, which, failing of finding their 
 victim, began to clamor for Paul Haverill's blood. But 
 Paul kept them at bay. In the rear of the house was a 
 small, dark room, to which there was but one entrance, 
 and that a steep narrow stairway. Here Paul Haverill 
 took refuge, and standing at the head of the stairs 
 threatened to shoot the first man who should attempt to 
 come up. They had not yet reached that state when 
 they counted their lives as nothing, and so amid yells 
 and oaths, and riding up and down the road, and drink 
 ing the fine grape wines with which the cellar was stocked, 
 the hours of the short summer night wore on until just 
 as the dawn was breaking in the east, the marauders put 
 the finishing touch to their night's debauch by setting 
 fire to the house, and then starting in a body up the 
 mountain side in the direction of the cave. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXKL 
 
 IN THE CAVE. 
 
 f'HE cave was dry and comparatively comfortable, 
 and Tom felt as he entered it almost like going 
 home. Will Mather had spent a day and a night 
 there, while better than all, Maude De Vere was with 
 him, her bright eyes' shining upon him through the dark 
 ness, and her hands touching his as she groped around
 
 360 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 for the candle her uncle had said was on a shelf in the 
 rock. 
 
 It was presently found, and with the aid of the match 
 Maude had brought with her a light was soon struck, its 
 flickering beams lighting up the dark recesses of the 
 cavern with a ghastly kind of light, which to Maude 
 seemed more terrible than the darkness. She was not 
 afraid, but her nerves were shaken as only threatened 
 danger to Tom Carleton could shake them, and she felt 
 strangely alone on the wild mountain side and in that 
 silent cavern. 
 
 Tom did not seem like much of a protector in that 
 woman's garb, but when, with a shake and a kick and a 
 merry laugh, he threw aside the bonnet, shawl and dress, 
 and stood before her in his own proper person, minus 
 the boots, she felt all her courage coming back, and with 
 him beside her could have defied the entire Southern 
 army. There was water enough in the spring to wash 
 the black from his face, and Maude lent her own pretty 
 ruffied white apron for a towel, and then, when his 
 toilet was completed, began to speak of returning. 
 
 " At this hour, and alone, with the road full of rob 
 bers ? Never, Maude, never ! You must either stay 
 here with me, or I shall go back with you," Tom said, 
 and he involuntarily wound his arm around the waist of 
 the young girl, who trembled like a leaf. 
 
 She did not think of Arthur then, or her promise to 
 him, for something in Tom's voice and manner as he 
 put his arm about her and called her Maude, brought to 
 her a feeling such as she had never experienced before. 
 Perhaps Tom suspected that he was understood, for he 
 held her closer to him, and passing his hand caressingly 
 over her burning cheek, he whispered : 
 
 " Dear Maude, I cannot let you incur any danger
 
 IN THE CAVE. 361 
 
 which I must not share. "You understand me, don't 
 you ?" 
 
 She thought of Arthur then, and the thought cut like 
 a knife through her heart. She must not understand; 
 she must not listen to words like these; she must not 
 stay there to hear them, and with a quick gesture she 
 was removing Tom's arm from her waist, when his wary 
 " Hist !" made her pause and stand where she was, lean 
 ing against him, and heavily, too, as terror overcame 
 every other feeling. Footsteps were coming near, and 
 coming cautiously, too, up to the very entrance of the 
 cave, where they stopped as some one outside seemed to 
 be listening. 
 
 It was a moment of terrible suspense, and Maude could 
 hear the throbbing of her heart, while Tom strained her 
 so close to him that his chin rested on her hair, and she 
 felt his breath upon her cheek. 
 
 " Maude, sister Maude," came reassuringly in a low 
 whisper, and with a cry Maude burst away from Tom, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " Charlie, what brings you here ?" 
 
 He explained to her why he was there, and that she 
 must stay all night, and with a shudder as she thought 
 of what might befall her uncle, Maude acquiesced in the 
 decree, feeling glad that Charlie was with them, a hin 
 drance and preventive to the utterance of words she 
 must not hear. A hindrance he was, it is true, but not a 
 total preventive, for by and by the tired boy's eyes be 
 gan to droop as drowsiness stole over him, and when 
 Tom made him a bed with Lois's dress and shawl, and 
 bade him lie down and sleep, he did so at once, after first 
 offering the impromptu couch to Maude. 
 
 Seen by the dim candle-light, Maude's face was very 
 white, and her eyes shone like burning coals as she 
 
 16
 
 362 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 watched Captain Carleton, and guessed his motive. Had 
 there been no Arthur in the Way, she would not have 
 shrunk from Captain Carleton; but with that haunting 
 memory she could have shrieked aloud when she saw 
 the weary lids droop over Charlie's eyes, and knew by 
 his regular breathing that he was asleep. 
 
 Tom knew it as soon as she did, but for a time he 
 kept silence; then he came close to her, and sitting 
 down by her side, said, softly: 
 
 " Maude, you and I have been very strangely thrown 
 together, and as I once said to you, there is a meaning 
 in it, if we will but find it. Shall I try and solve it for 
 you, or do you know yourself what is in my mind ?" 
 
 She did know, but she could not answer; and her face 
 drooped over her brother, whose head she had pillowed 
 upon her lap. 
 
 " Perhaps this is not the fitting place for me to speak," 
 Tom continued, " but if the morning finds me in safety, 
 I must be gone, and no one can guess when we may meet 
 again. Let me tell you, Maude, of my early life before 
 ever I saw or dreamed of you." 
 
 Surely she might hear this, and the bowed head lifted 
 itself a little, while Captain Carleton told first of his 
 home in Boston, of beautiful little Rose, and saucy, 
 dark-eyed Jimmie, and then of the pale, proud Mary, his 
 early manhood's love, who at the last had lost the pride 
 and hauteur inherited from her race, and had died so 
 gentle and lowly, and gone where her husband one day 
 hoped to meet her. Then there came a pause, and Tom 
 was thinking of a night when poor Jimmie sat by his 
 side before the lonely tent fire, and talked with him of 
 Annie Graham. Should he tell Maude of that ? Yes, 
 he would ; and by the even beating of his heart, as he 
 made that resolve, and thought of Annie, he knew he
 
 IN THE CAVE. 363 
 
 had outlived his fancy for one of whom he spoke unhesi 
 tatingly, praising her girlish beauty, telling how pure and 
 good she was, and how once a hope had stirred his heart 
 that he, perhaps, might win her. 
 
 " But I gave her up to Jimmie. Annie will be my sis 
 ter, aad I know now why it was so appointed. God had 
 in store for me a gem as beautiful as Annie Graham, and 
 better adapted to me. I mean you, Maude. God in 
 tends you for my wife. Do you accede willingly ? Have 
 you any love for the poor Yankee soldier who has been 
 so long dependent upon you ?" 
 
 He had her head now on his arm, and with his hand 
 was smoothing her bands of satin hair, while he waited for 
 her to speak. He had dealt honestly with her. She would 
 be equally truthful with him, and she answered at last : 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Carleton, you don't know how much it pains 
 me to tell you what I must. I might have loved you 
 once, but now it is too late. I promised Arthur, if he 
 would be kind to the poor prisoners and help the 
 escaped ones to get away, and, oh, I don't know what, 
 but I am to be his wife, when the dreadful war is over. 
 Pity me, Mr. Carleton, but don't love me. No, no, don't 
 make me more wretched by telling me of a love I cannot 
 return. 
 
 " Could you return it, Maude, if there were no promise 
 to Arthur ?" 
 
 Tom spoke very low, with his lips close to her burning 
 cheek, but Maude did not reply, and Tom continued: 
 
 " Maude, was the getting me here in safety any part of 
 the price for which you sold yourself ?" 
 
 She did not answer even then, but by the low, gasp 
 ing sob she gave as she shed back from her hot brow the 
 heavy hair, Tom knew the truth, and to himself he said, 
 " It shall not be." And then from his heart there went
 
 604 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 np a silent prayer that God would give him the brave, 
 beautiful girl, who drew herself away from him, and 
 leaning over her sleeping brother, sat with both hands 
 clasped upon her face. They did not talk together much 
 more, and once Tom thought Maude was asleep, she sat 
 so rigid and motionless, with her face turned toward the 
 entrance of the cave. 
 
 But she was not asleep, and her dark eyes were fixed 
 wistfully upon the one bright star visible to her, and 
 which seemed whispering to her of hope. Perhaps Ar 
 thur would release her from her promise, and perhaps, 
 but Maude started from that thought as from an evil 
 spirit, and her white lips whispered faintly, " God help 
 me to keep my promise." 
 
 The night was very still, and as the hours wore on, 
 and the faint dawn of day came over the mountain tops, 
 Maude's quick ear caught the echo of the fierce shouts in 
 the valley below, and laying Charlie's head from her lap she 
 went out of the cave, followed by Captain Carleton, who 
 wondered to see how that one night had changed her. 
 The brilliant color was gone from her cheek, which looked 
 haggard and pale, as faces look when some great storm 
 of sorrow has passed over them. Her hair had fallen 
 down and lay in masses upon her neck, from which she 
 shook it off impatiently, and then intently listened to 
 the sounds which each moment grew louder. Shoutings 
 they were, and tones of command, mingled with the dis 
 tant tramp of horses' feet, while suddenly, above the tall 
 tree-tops which skirted the mountain side, arose a coil of 
 smoke. Too dark, too thick to have come from any 
 chimney where the early morning fire was kindled, it 
 told its own tale of horror, and Maude's eyes grew so 
 black and fierce that Tom shrunk back from her, as,
 
 IN THE CAVE. 365 
 
 pointing her finger toward the fast increasing rings of 
 smoke and flame, she whispered : 
 
 " Do you see that, Captain Carleton ? It's Uncle Paul's 
 dwelling; they have set it on fire. I never thought they 
 would do that, though I have watched more than one 
 burning house in these mountains, and have almost felt 
 a thrill of pride as I thought how dearly we were pay 
 ing for our love to the old flag; but when it comes to my 
 own home, the pride is all gone, the fire burns deeper, 
 and one is half tempted to question the price required 
 for the Union." 
 
 Tom was about to speak to her, when she turned ab 
 ruptly upon him, and said : 
 
 " Captain Carleton, do you believe your Northern wo 
 men, your Kose, your Annie would bear and brave what 
 the loyal women of the South endure ? They may be 
 true to the Union, no doubt they are, and they think 
 they know what war means; but I tell you they do not. 
 Did they ever see their friends and neighbors driven to 
 the woods and hills ]ike hunted beasts, or watch the 
 kindling flames devouring their own houses, as I am do 
 ing now ? for I know that is my Uncle Paul's, and whether 
 he still lives, or is hung between the earth and heavens, 
 God only knows, and perhaps he has forgotten. I some 
 times think he has, else why does he not send us aid ? 
 Where are your hordes of men ? Why do they not come 
 to save us, when we have waited so long, and our eyes and 
 ears are weak and weary with watching for their coming ?" 
 
 She was talking now more to herself than to her com 
 panion, and she looked a very queen of tragedy, as, with 
 her hair floating over her shoulders, and her hands 
 pressed tightly together, she walked hurriedly the length 
 and breadth of the long flat rock which bordered a pre 
 cipice near to the cave.
 
 366 ROSE MATHER 
 
 Tom was about to answer her, when a ball went whiz 
 zing past him, while the loud shouts of the men, whose 
 heads were visible beneath the distant trees, told that 
 he had been discovered. 
 
 To return to the cave and take Maude with him, was 
 the work of a moment, and amid yells of fury the 
 drunken mob came on to where Maude, forgetting every 
 thing now except Tom Carleton, stood waiting for them. 
 They would not harm her, she knew, and like a lioness 
 guarding its young, she stood within the cave, but so 
 near the entrance that her face was visible to the men, 
 who at sight of her stopped suddenly, and asked what 
 she was doing there, and who she had with her. 
 
 " My brother Charlie and Captain Carleton, the man 
 whom you sought at Uncle Paul's," she answered, fear 
 lessly, as she held with a firm grasp the dangerous-look 
 ing weapon, which she knew how to use. 
 
 " And pray, what may you be doing with the Yankee ? 
 asked one of the coarser of the men; and Maude replied 
 
 " I am standing between him and just such creatures 
 as you are," 
 
 While Tom, grasping her shoulder, said: 
 
 " Step aside, Maude; I cannot endure this. You, a 
 girl, defending me! I must go out. Let me pass." 
 
 "To certain death? Never!" Maude replied, thrust 
 ing him back with a strength born of desperation. 
 
 Charlie, who had roused from his sleep, and fully com 
 prehended what was going on, caught Tom around the 
 neck, and nearly strangled him, as he said: 
 
 "Let Maude alone, Captain Carleton. They'll not 
 harm her. They would only shoot you down for noth 
 ing." 
 
 Thus hampered and importuned, Tom stood back a 
 little, while Maude held a parley with her besiegers,
 
 IN THE CAVE. 367 
 
 threatening to shoot the first man who should attempt 
 to pass her. She did not think of danger to herself, and 
 she stood firmly at her post; while the men consulted 
 together as to the best course to be pursued. And while 
 they talked, and Maude stood watchful and dauntless, 
 the flames of Paul Haverill's house rose higher in the 
 heavens, and strange, ominous sounds were heard in the 
 distance, sounds as of many horsemen riding for dear 
 life, with shouts and excited voices; and Maude became 
 aware of some sudden influence working upon the crowd 
 around her. 
 
 Then a band of cavalry dashed into sight, and all was 
 wild hurry and consternation. But, above the din of 
 the strife without, Tom Carleton caught sounds which 
 made his heart leap up, and springing forward past 
 Maude De Vere, he exclaimed : 
 
 "Thank God, the Federals have come! "We are 
 saved ! Maude, we are saved !" 
 
 As his tall form emerged into view, a brutal soldier, 
 maddened by the surprise and unavoidable defeat, level 
 ed his gun and fired, recking little whether Tom or 
 Maude was the victim. The ball cut through the sleeve 
 of Maude's dress, and grazing her arm enough to draw 
 oJood, lodged harmlessly in the rocks beyond. 
 
 At that sight all Charlie's fire was roused, and the 
 shot which went whizzing through the air made surer 
 work than did the one intended for Tom Carleton. 
 Tom was out upon the ledge of rocks by this time, grasp 
 ing the hands of the blue coats, who were a part of a 
 company sent out to reconnoiter, and who had reached 
 Paul Haverill's house just after the rebels had left it. 
 At first they had tried to extinguish the flames, but find 
 ing that impossible, they had followed the enemy, most 
 of whom were made prisoners of war.
 
 368 KOSE MATHER. 
 
 Some months before, John Simms had been trans 
 ferred from the Army of the Potomac to the Army of the 
 Cumberland, and he it was who led his men to the res 
 cue, doing it the more daringly and willingly when he 
 heard who was in danger. He was a captain now, and 
 he stood grasping Tom Carleton's hand, when a piercing 
 shriek rose on the air, and turning round, the young 
 men saw Maude De Vere bending over the prostrate form 
 of a soldier, whose head she gently lifted up, as she 
 moaned bitterly: 
 
 " Oh, Arthur, Arthur! how came you here?" 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 POOB ARTHUR. 
 
 i had kept his word, and piloted safely across the 
 mountains the prisoner left in Hetty's cabin. 
 His arrival at Paul Haverill's burning home had 
 preceded that of the Federal troops by twenty minutes 
 or more, and when he heard of Maude's danger, he fol 
 lowed our soldiers up the hillside to where Maude held 
 the entrance to the cave. He saw her, and tried to make 
 his voice heard, but it was lost amid the strife and noise of 
 the conflict, and she only knew of his presence, when 
 Charlie, with chattering teeth, and a face as white as 
 ashes, clutched her dress frantically, and said : 
 
 " Come, sister, come this way to Arthur, somebody 
 shot him. Do you think he will die ?" 
 
 Quick as lightning the remembrance of the thought, 
 which had yet scarcely been a thought, of just such a
 
 POOE AKTHUE. 369 
 
 contingency as this, flashed over Maude, sweeping away 
 all the pain, the terror, the shrinking she had felt when ' 
 she contemplated the fulfillment of her promise to Ar 
 thur Tunbridge. He was lying there at her feet, and 
 the grass beneath him was all a pool of blood, while his 
 dim eyes showed that the objects around him were now 
 but faintly discerned. He saw Maude, though, and when 
 her loud cry met his ear he smiled a glad, grateful smile, 
 and said to her, as she knelt beside him and took his 
 head in her lap 
 
 " You are sorry, Maude. It was a mistake. You did 
 love me some." 
 
 She pressed her quivering lips to his, and said 
 again, 
 
 " Oh Arthur ! Arthur ! how came you here ?" 
 
 Arthur knew he was dying, but, shaking off all thought 
 of his own pain, he explained to Maude how he came 
 there. 
 
 " The man, you remember. I got him through, and 
 I am not sorry, for he told me of a blind mother and six 
 little children dependent upon him away off somewhere 
 among the Ohio hills. Think if they had been left with 
 out support. I am glad I saved him even if it cost my 
 life. And still it is hard to die, Maude, just as you are 
 beginning to love me, for you are, and if I had lived you 
 would have kept your promise to me. 
 
 "Yes, Arthur, I would," and Maude's white fingers 
 threaded the bloody hair and moved softly over the 
 ghastly face. " Who did it, Arthur ?" she asked, and 
 Arthur's face flushed to a purple hue as with a moan he 
 said: 
 
 " Don't ask me, there was a mistake. I had taken no 
 part in the fray, except to knock down the ruffian who fired
 
 S70 ROSE MATHER 
 
 at you. I was standing right behind him. Yes, there 
 was a mistake. Oh Maude, it was a mistake." 
 
 He kept repeating the words, while Maude tried to 
 stop the blood flowing so freely from the wound in his 
 temple. The ball had entered there, but had not pene 
 trated to the brain, and he retained his consciousness to 
 the last, smiling once kindly on Charlie, who, half frantic, 
 bent over him, and said: 
 
 "Yes, Arthur, it was a mistake, oh Arthur, oh Maude, 
 and you two were engaged. I did not know it before." 
 
 Then a bright flush crept in to "Maude's white face, for 
 she knew the tall shadow on the grass beside her be 
 longed to Capt. Carleton, and he, she guessed, was 
 thinking of last night in the cave. He did think of 
 it, but only for a moment, and then his thoughts were 
 merged in his great anxiety for Lieutenant Arthur, who 
 he saw was dying. Arthur knew he was there, and 
 smiled when he asked if he felt much pain. 
 
 " None with Maude beside me. She was to have been 
 my wife, wern't you, Maude ?" 
 
 " Yes, Arthur. I was to have been your wife." 
 
 She spoke it openly, frankly, as if by so doing she was 
 seeking to atone for an error, and the eyes lifted to Tom's 
 face had in them something defiant, as if she would say, 
 " I mean it. I would have been his wife." 
 
 But she met only pity in Tom's looks pity for her, and 
 pity for the young man dying among the mountains on 
 that soft, summer morning, when the whole world seemed 
 so at variance with a death like that. It was a strange 
 scene, and one which those who witnessed it never could 
 forget. The broad, level plat on the mountain side, the 
 mounted horsemen, the group of prisoners, the beauti 
 ful, queenly girl, whose lap pillowed the head of the dy 
 ing soldier, while her brilliant eyes wept floods of teara
 
 POOK AllTHUK. 371 
 
 which, with quick, nervous movements of her fingers, she 
 swept away. Beside her was Charlie, his face whiter 
 than that of the dying man, and his muscles working 1 
 painfully as if he was forcing back some terrible pang or 
 cry of agony. Tom Carleton, too, and Paul Haverill, 
 who had later joined the group and stood looking sadly 
 on, while toward the south the smoke and flame of his owu 
 house was ascending, and in the east the early morning 
 was bright and fresh with the summer's golden sunshine. 
 And there on the mountain side they waited and watched, 
 while the young lieutenant talked faintly of his distant 
 home where the news would carry so much sorrow. 
 
 " Tell father I died believing in our cause, and were I 
 to live my life over I should join the Southern army ; but 
 it's wrong about the prisoners. We ought not to abuse 
 those who fall into our hands. I've loved you Maude, 
 so long. Remember me when I am gone, not for any 
 thing brilliant there was about me, but because I loved 
 you so well, and died in carrying out the work you gave 
 me to do." 
 
 "Oh, Arthur! Arthur! speak some word of comfort 
 to me or I shall surely die. It was a mistake," Charlie 
 whispered, as he crept close to Arthur's side. 
 
 The dying man's eyes rested inquiringly for a mo 
 ment in Charlie's face, then lighted up with a sudden 
 
 joy- 
 
 " Charlie ! Charlie ! come close," he whispered. " Bend 
 your ear to my lips. Maude must not hear me." 
 
 His head was still lying on Maude's lap, but he spoke 
 so low to Charlie that she did not hear the question 
 asked. She only knew that Charlie started quickly, and 
 throwing one arm across her neck as if to save her from 
 some evil, said, promptly, energetically: 
 
 " No, no, Arthur; no !"
 
 372 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 Then the quivering lips went down again to Arthur's 
 ear, and Maude caught the word " mistake," and that 
 was all. She did not know or think what it really 
 meant. It was all a mistake, the terrible war which had 
 brought her so much pain and suffering. 
 
 " I die easier now. It was so horrible before. Poor 
 Charlie! Don't let it trouble you. Care for Maude. 
 She would have been my wife. Stick to our cause. You 
 never forsook it," came faintly from Arthur, and his eyes, 
 when again they rested on Maude's face, had lost the 
 strange, frightened look which she had observed when 
 she first came to his side. He was dying very fast, and 
 his mind seemed groping for some form of prayer with 
 which to meet the last great foe. 
 
 "Pray, somebody," he moaned, and Paul Haverill, 
 who, wholly overcome with all he had passed through 
 during the last few hours, had stood dumb and motion- 
 less, replied in a choking voice : 
 
 " I am not a praying man, but God be with you, my 
 boy, and land you safely on t'other side, where there's no 
 more fighting." 
 
 " Tes, but that isn't ' Our Father.' I used to say it at 
 home," came feebly from the white lips, and then Tom 
 Carleton knelt beside the youth whose path had crossed 
 his own so often and so strangely, and with deep rever 
 ence and earnest entreaty commended the departing spirit 
 to the God who deals more gently, and mercifully, and 
 lovingly with his children than they dealt with each other. 
 
 Tom thought of Isaac Simms, and the noisome, filthy 
 room in Libby where he had first learned to pray, 
 and the thought gave fervor to his prayer, to which 
 Arthur listened intently, his lips motioning the amen 
 he could not speak, for he had no power of utter 
 ance. Once again they moved with a pleading kind of
 
 THE DEAD AND THE LIVING. 373 
 
 motion, and Maude stooped over to kiss them, her long 
 hair falling across the pallid brow, where the blood stains 
 were, and when she lifted her head up, and pushed back 
 her heavy locks, there was the seal of death on Arthur's 
 face.. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 
 THE DEAD AND THE LIVING. 
 
 F all Paul Haverill's comfortable buildings, house, 
 stables, barn and negro quarters, there was left 
 him only one cabin which the fire had not con 
 sumed. That stood a little distant from the rest, and 
 had been occupied by Lois before her husband died. It 
 was superior to the other cabins then; it was neat and 
 tidy now, and there they laid the dead lieutenant, in his 
 grey uniform, with a little flag of stars and bars across 
 his breast. This was Charlie's thought, and it was very 
 mete that he who to the last had believed in the righte 
 ousness of the Confederacy should have her sign above 
 him. There was no other spot except the cabin where 
 Maude could stay, and the entire day and night she sat 
 by her dead Arthur, whom, now that he was dead, she 
 cherished in her heart as a martyr and a hero, questioning 
 even the ground on which she had hitherto stood so 
 firmly, and asking herself if, after all, the South was so 
 very far out of the way, or if the Union were worth the 
 fearful price the Southern people were paying for it. 
 Maude did not know herself in this mood. It was so 
 unlike all her former theories, and more than once she
 
 374 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 
 
 pressed her hot hands to her still hotter head, and asked 
 if she was going mad. 
 
 Crouched beside Maude, with his blue eyes fixed upon 
 her with a pitying, remorseful look, was Charlie. 
 
 "Poor Maude, poor sister! lam so sorry. I never 
 thought, I did not know; you used to laugh about him 
 so to Uncle Paul. I'd give my life to bring him back 
 for you. Did you love him so very much ?" Charlie said, 
 in broken sentences, and then Maude shivered from head 
 to foot, but made him no reply. 
 
 She had not loved him so very much, but his violent 
 death and all the horrors attending it had shaken her 
 terribly, and could he have come back to life she would 
 have tried to love him, and with her iron will would 
 have crushed that other love, the very knowledge of 
 which had made her heart throb with so much joy. 
 
 But the dead come not to life again, and" the next 
 luorning they buried Arthur Tunbridge in the grassy 
 enclosure where Paul HaveriJl's wife was sleeping with 
 the infant son who, had he lived, would have been just 
 Arthur's a^e. The blue coated soldiery, who had been 
 his deadly foes, paid him every military honor possible 
 within thf ir means, even marching to his grave behind 
 the stars and bars which lay upon his coffin; but when 
 they camo back from the burial, they bore the national 
 flag, whose folds that peaceful summer night floated in 
 the breeze from the top of Lois's cabin. 
 
 Very kind, and gentle, and pitiful was Tom's de 
 meanor toward Maude. During the day and the night, 
 wr_en she had sat by Arthur in Lois's cabin, he had not 
 been near her; but, after all was over, he went to her, 
 and, with the authority of a friend and brother, insisted 
 that she should take the rest she needed so much. And 
 Maude gave way at the sound of his soothing, quieting
 
 THE DEAD AND THE LIVING. 375 
 
 voice, and, with a flood of tears, did what he bade her 
 do. And then Tom sat by her, and bathed her throb 
 bing head, and smoothed her beautiful hair, and paid 
 back in part the services she had rendered him when he 
 lay sick in Squire Tunbridge's house. 
 
 Maude was not ill, only exhausted, both physically 
 and mentally the exhaustion showing itself in the quiet, 
 listless state into which she lapsed, paying but little 
 attention to what was passing around her, and offering 
 no suggestion or remonstrance when told of her uncle's 
 plan to accompany Captain Siinms and his men i o Knox- 
 ville. 
 
 Over Paul Haverill, too, a change had passed. The 
 attack upon him by his old friends and neighbors, though 
 long expected, had been sudden and terrible when it 
 came, and as he watched the burning of the house which 
 had been his so long, he felt that every tie which bound 
 him to the old place was severed. Then came swiftly 
 the fearful tragedy of the mountains, when Arthur was 
 brought to him dead. Stunned and bewildered by the 
 startling events which had followed each other so rapidly, 
 Paul was hardly able to counsel for himself, and as 
 sented readily to the plan which had really originated 
 with Captain Carleton, who had another scheme under 
 lying that, but who suggested both so skillfully that Paul 
 Haverill fancied they were his own ideas, and gave them 
 as such to Maude. They would go to Knoxville with the 
 soldiers, he said ; thence to Nashville. They had some 
 relatives living there, and, after resting for a little, they 
 would continue their journeyings North, going, perhaps, 
 as far as New York. 
 
 "I always wanted to travel North," he said, "but 
 my affairs kept me at home. Now I have no affairs. 
 My neighbors have relieved me of such commodities.
 
 376 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 and I want to get away from a spot where I have wit 
 nessed such dreadful things. We all need change. 
 You, Maude, more than I, and Charlie more than either. 
 I don't know what has come over the boy. That horri 
 ble night and morning were too much for him." 
 
 Maude knew that so far as Charlie was concerned, 
 her uncle had spoken truly. Charlie was greatly 
 changed, and his eyes had in them a scared look, as if 
 every detail of the horrors of the fight on the mountain 
 had stamped itself indelibly upon his mind, and was 
 never for an instant forgotten. 
 
 He needed a change of place and scene; and as she 
 could not return to Arthur's desolate home, whither the 
 sad news had been sent at once, Maude assented to the 
 Nashville arrangement, and in three weeks was com 
 fortably settled at a Nashville hotel, with Lois as her 
 attendant. Her uncle, Charlie, and Captain Caiieton 
 were with her, the latter constantly putting off his 
 journey to Rockland, where they were so anxiously wait 
 ing for him. He had written to Rose immediately after 
 his arrival at Nashville, telling her of all that had tran 
 spired, and speaking of Maude De Yere as one whom be 
 hoped to make his wife. This time the letter went safe 
 ly, and Rose replied at once, urging Tom to come, and 
 insisting that Mr. Haverill, Maude and Charlie should 
 accompany him. 
 
 " They saved Will's life as well as yours," Rose wrote. 
 " I have a right to them all, and especially to the noble 
 Maude. Bring her to me, Tom, and let me coax back 
 the color to her dear face and the brightness to her eyes. 
 I shall come myself and get her if she refuses." > 
 
 Maude had never known the companionship of a sister, 
 had never had a single intimate girl friend except
 
 THE DEAD AND THE LIVING. 377 
 
 Nettie Tunbridge, who died. Independent, strong willed 
 and self-reliant, she had cared but little for any society 
 except that which she found with nature in the wild 
 mountains of Tennessee; but now, broken and shocked, 
 and shorn of some of her strength, she longed for sym 
 pathy and companionship, and something in Hose 
 Mather's sprightly letter made her heart yearn toward 
 the little lady who had written it, and the pleasant 
 home which Rose described as beautiful with the sum 
 mer bloom. 
 
 " I will think about it by and by," she said to her 
 uncle ; "but for the present it is nice to rest here in 
 Nashville." 
 
 So for a time longer they lingered in Tennessee, while 
 Rose waited impatiently for them and fretted at the de 
 lay. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 ANDERSONVILLE PRISONERS. 
 
 'HIS seems to be one of the worst cases we have 
 had. I doubt if his mind will survive the 
 horrors he has endured, even if his body 
 does. Poor fellow ! his mother would not recognize him 
 now." 
 
 This was what the physician at Annapolis said to Mrs. 
 Simms of a miserable, emaciated skeleton, which had 
 come up from Andersonville with the last arrival of pris 
 oners.
 
 378 EOSE MATHEB. 
 
 "While we in the mountains of Tennessee -were tracing 
 the wanderings of "Will Mather and Captain Carleton, 
 Mrs. Simms and Annie had stood untiringly at their 
 posts beside the sick and dying soldiers who had learned 
 to bless and watch for the stern widow, and to love and 
 worship thte beautiful Annie Graham. And well had 
 she earned such appreciation, for she had been most 
 faithful to the wretched ones committed to her care, 
 faithful both to body and soul, and in the better world 
 she knew there was waiting to welcome her more than 
 one, whose darkened mind she had led to the fountain 
 of all light. And Annie had made a vow to stay till 
 from that foul Southern prison, where 28,000 men had 
 died, there came to her the one for whom she always 
 looked so anxiously when new arrivals came, her blue 
 eyes running rapidly over each wasted form, and then 
 filling with tears when the scrutiny was found to be in 
 vain. 
 
 James Carleton had never been heard from since that 
 letter sent to her so long ago, and hope had died out of 
 Annie's heart, when at last, with Widow Simms, she 
 stood by the cot where lay the insensible form of which 
 the physician had spoken so discouragingly. 
 
 It was the figure of a young man, who must once have 
 been finely formed, with handsome face and hair and 
 eyes. The latter were closed now, and only the lids 
 moved with a convulsive motion, as Annie bent over 
 him. The dark hair, matted and coarse and filthy, had 
 curled in rings about the bony forehead, but had been 
 cut away when the bath was given, and the closely 
 shorn head was like many other heads which Annie 
 Graham's hands had touched, gently, tenderly, as they 
 now moved over this one, trying to infuse some life into 
 the breathing skeleton. He was to be her charge, he
 
 ANDERSONYCLLE PRISONERS. 379 
 
 was in her division and Mrs. Simms' keen grey eyea 
 scanned Annie curiously as she bent over the poor fel 
 low. 
 
 He was helpless as an infant, and Annie nursed him 
 much as she would have nursed a baby whose life hung 
 on a thread. He had been there four days, and only a 
 faint, moaning sound had given token of life or conscious 
 ness. But at the close of the fourth day, as Annie sat 
 chafing the pulseless fingers where the grey skin hung so 
 loosely, the eyes opened for a moment and were fixed 
 upon her face. There was no consciousness in them, 
 no recognition of her presence, nothing but the strained, 
 hungry, despairing look Annie had seen in the eyes of 
 somany of our prisoners, and which to a greater or 
 less degree was peculiar to them all. Annie saw this 
 look, and then underneath it all she saw something 
 more, what it was she could not tell, but it brought 
 back to her those moonlight nights upon the beach at 
 New London, and that other night of more recent date, 
 when she sat with Jimmie Carleton beneath the Rock- 
 land sky and heard his passionate words of love, and 
 saw his soft, black eyes kindle with earnestness and then 
 grow sad and sorrowful with disappointment. There 
 was no kindling in them now, no ardent passion or heat 
 of love, but a certain softness and brightness, and even 
 sauciness, lingered still and told Annie at last who it was. 
 
 " Oh, merciful Father ! it is Jimmie !" she said, and un 
 mindful of any who might be looking on, she bent down 
 and kissed the sunken cheeks from which the flesh was 
 gone. 
 
 She had expected him so long, and grown so weary 
 and hopeless with expectations unfulfilled, that she could 
 scarcely believe it now, or realize that the half dead 
 wretch before her was once the lively, humorous, teasing
 
 380 ROSE MITHEB. 
 
 Jimmie Carleton. How she pitied him, and how her 
 heart throbbed as she thought of the suffering he must 
 have endured ere he reached this state of apparent imbe 
 cility. Then, as she remembered what the physician 
 said about his mind, she dropped upon her knees, and 
 clasping her hands over her face, prayed earnestly that 
 God would remove the darkness and wholly restore the 
 man whom she loved so dearly. 
 
 " Do you think he will die ?" she asked Mrs. Simms, 
 who had come for a moment to her side. 
 
 " You know him, then. I was wondering that an old 
 woman like me should see clearer than you. I mistrust 
 ed from the first," Mrs. Simms answered, and then to 
 Annie's eager questioning she replied, "It will be almost 
 a miracle if we do get any sense into that brain, or flesh 
 upon these bones, but we'll do the best we can." 
 
 Her words were not very encouraging, and Annie's 
 tears fell like rain upon the face of the man who gave no 
 sign that he knew where he was, or who was bending 
 over him. Oh! how he had longed for the air of the 
 North, as his face daily grew thinner, greyer, and more 
 corpse-like^ while his flesh seemed shrivelling and drying 
 on his bones. Bill Baker had done what he could to 
 ameli orate his condition, done too much in fact, and as 
 the result he suddenly found himself shorn of his privi 
 leges, and an inmate again of the dreadful prison. Even 
 then he clung to and cared for Jimmie, until the pangs 
 of starvation and the pains of sickness made him forget 
 ful of all but himself. And there they pined and wept 
 and waited until the day of their release, when Bill was 
 too ill to be removed, and was left in charge of a humane 
 family, who kindly promised to care for him until he was 
 better. From a Eockland soldier who had been taken 
 prisoner at the battle of the Wilderness, Jimmie had
 
 THE ARDERSONVILLE PRISONERS. 381 
 
 heard that Mrs. Graham was at Annapolis, and then ! oh, 
 how he longed for the time when it might be his fate to be 
 tended and nursed by her. She would do it so gently, and 
 BO kindly, and in his dreams the walls of his pestilential 
 prison stretched away to the green fields of the North, 
 where he walked again with Annie, and felt the clasp of her 
 little hand, and the light of her blue eyes. She was al 
 ways present with him, she or the little Lulu, of Pequot 
 memory. Somehow these two were strangely mixed, and 
 when his mind began to totter as the physical strain on it 
 became too great, the two faces were united in one body, 
 and both bent lovingly over him, just as Annie Graham 
 was doing now when he was past knowing or caring who 
 ministered to him. A vague suspicion he had at inter 
 vals that in some respects there was a change, that his 
 bed was not the filthy sand bank, nor his covering the 
 pitiless sky. Gradually, too, there came a different look 
 upon his face; the color was changing from the dingy 
 gray; to a more life-like hue; flesh was showing a little 
 beneath the skin, and the dark hair began to grow, and 
 Annie watered the tiny curls with bitter tears, for, as 
 proof of the terrible life whose horrors will never half be 
 written, the once black hair was coming out streaked with 
 grey. They knew in Kockland that he was at Annapolis, 
 but Annie had peremptorily forbidden either Mrs. Carle- 
 ton or Hose to come. " They could do no good," she 
 wrote. " Jimmie would not know them ; and they 
 might be in the way." 
 
 They were constantly expecting Tom from Tennessee, 
 with Maude De Vere and her friends, and so they re 
 mained at home the more willingly, enjoining it upon 
 Annie to write them every day, just a line to tell how 
 Jimmie was.
 
 382 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 -^ 
 
 The summer rain was falling softly upon the streets of 
 Annapolis, and the cool evening air came stealing into 
 the room, where Annie Graham sat by her patient. 
 There were not so many now in her ward, and she had 
 more time for Jimmie, by whose bedside every leisure 
 moment was passed. She was sitting by him now, watch 
 ing him as he slept, and listening breathlessly to his low 
 murmurings as he seemed to be talking of her and the 
 dreadful prison-life. Then he slept more soundly, and 
 she arranged the light so- that it left his face in shadow, 
 but fell full upon her own. 
 
 Half an hour passed in this way, and Annie's head was 
 beginning to droop from languor and drowsiness, when 
 a sudden exclamation startled her, and she looked up to 
 see her patient's eyes fixed upon her, while with his fin 
 ger he pointed to the window opposite, and whispered, 
 
 " The star, it's risen again, when I thought it had set 
 forever. I take it as a good omen, Bill. I shall see her 
 face again." 
 
 Did he think himself in prison still, with that star 
 shining over him, and did he take her for Bill Baker ? 
 The thought was not a very complimentary one, but An 
 nie forgot everything in her joy, at this evidence of re 
 turning reason. 
 
 "Jimmie," she said softly, and she bent her face so 
 close to his, that her lips touched his forehead, " Jimmie, 
 don't you know that you are in Annapolis, with me, with 
 Annie Graham. You remember Annie ?" 
 
 She had many a time said these very words in his ear, 
 hoping somehow to impress them upon him, and now 
 she had succeeded, for he repeated them after her slowly, 
 and with long pauses, like a school-boy trying to say a 
 half-learned lesson. 
 
 "Jimmie don't you know that you are here in
 
 THE ANDEESONTTLLE PRISONERS. 383 
 
 Annapolis with me with Annie Graham Ton re 
 member Annie ?" 
 
 And as he said them consciousness began to struggle 
 back, the black eyes fastened themselves upon Annie 
 with a wistful look ; then they took in her dress, her 
 hands folded in her lap, the decent covering on the bed, 
 the furniture of the room, and then throwing up his arms 
 he felt of his flesh, and examined his linen, and patted 
 the pillow, while still the look of wonder and perplexity 
 deepened on his face. Suddenly he let his arms drop 
 helplessly, then stretched them feebly towards Annie, and 
 while both chin and lip quivered touchingly, and the 
 tears streamed from his eyes, he whispered, 
 
 " Clean face, clean hands, soft pillow and bed, with 
 the hunger, and thirst, and home-sickness gone. This 
 is yes, this must be God's land, and she is there with 
 me." 
 
 He fainted then. The shock of coming back to " God's 
 land " had been too great, and for a week or more he 
 paid but little heed to what was passing around him. 
 
 " Don't you know me, Jimmie ? It's I, it's Annie," 
 Mrs. Graham would say to him, as his restless eyes turn 
 ed upon her, and he would repeat after her, 
 
 " Don't you know me, Jimmie ? It's I, it's Annie." 
 
 This was a peculiarity of his, and it continued until 
 Bill Baker, who had become strong enough to be moved, 
 came to Annapolis, and asked to see the " Cop'ral." 
 
 At first the physician refused, but Annie approved the 
 plan, hoping for a good result, and she waited anxiously, 
 while Bill said cheerily, 
 
 " Hallo, old Cop'ral. Rather nicer quarters here than 
 that sand-bank down by that infernal nasty stream." 
 
 Bill Baker's voice was the last which in the far-off 
 prison had sounded kindly in Jimmie's ears, and no\i as
 
 384 EOSE MATHEE. 
 
 he heard it again his face lighted up, and his eyes kin 
 dled with something like their olden fire. 
 
 "You know me, Cop'ral. I'm Bill. We've been ex 
 changed. We're up to Annapolis, and Miss Graam is 
 nussin' you," Bill continued, and then Jimmie drew a 
 long breath, and burst into a passionate fit of tears. 
 " They'll do him good. They allus did to Andersonville. 
 He'd hold in till he was fit to burst, and then he'd let 
 'em slide, and feel better. He'll know you, Miss Graam, 
 after this." 
 
 Annie was called away just then, to attend to another 
 patient, and Bill was left alone with Jimmie. There 
 were a few broken sentences from the latter, and then 
 Bill Baker was heard talking rapidly, but very gently 
 and cautiously, and Jimmie lifted his head once and 
 looked across the room where Annie was. 
 
 " Better leave him alone a spell, till he thinks it out, 
 and gets it arranged," Bill said to Annie. " I made him 
 understand where he was, and that you was here, and all 
 right on the main question; and though he'd like to have 
 bust his biler for a minute, he'll come all straight, I 
 reckon." 
 
 It was more than an hour before Annie went to Jim 
 mie again, but when she did, the eager, joyful look in 
 his eyes told her that she was recognized. 
 
 " Don't speak to me, don't talk," she said, laying one 
 hand lightly upon the lips, which began to move, while 
 with the other she smoothed the short curls of hair. 
 
 He kissed the hand upon his lips, and whispered, 
 through the fingers: 
 
 " Tell me first, was it true, he told me ? Do you " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, for Annie understood 
 him, and bending so near to him that no one else could 
 hear, she said:
 
 THE ANDERSONVILLE PKISONEKS. 386 
 
 " Yes, Jimmie, I do." 
 
 He seemed satisfied, and something of his old manner 
 came back to him when, later in the day, Annie tried to 
 straighten the clothes about him, and wet and brushed 
 his hair. 
 
 " Look like a hippopotamus, don't I ?" he asked, touch 
 ing his thick-skinned face. 
 
 "Not half as much as you did," Annie replied; and 
 the first smile her face had worn for weeks glimmered 
 around her lips, for she knew now the danger was past, 
 and Jimmie Carleton would live. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYTL 
 
 IN BOCKLAND. 
 
 JHE warm, bright November day was wearing to 
 its close. The purple haze of the Indian sum 
 mer lay around the hilltops, and the soft, golden 
 sunlight fell softly upon the grass, and the few autum 
 nal flowers which had escaped the recent storm. The 
 grounds around the Mather mansion were looking almost 
 as beautiful as in the early summer, for the grass, in 
 vigorated by the rain, was fresh and green again, and 
 the brilliant foliagfe of the trees which dotted the lawn 
 made up for the loss of the flowers. Even these last 
 were not lacking indoors, for the hot-hou'se had been 
 robbed of its costliest flowers, which filled the whole 
 house with perfume, and made Maude De Vere start 
 with surprise when she first entered the parlors.
 
 386 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 " It takes me back to raj Southern home," she said to 
 Rose, who, standing on tiptoe, fastened a half-open lily 
 in her hair, going into ecstasies over the effect, and 
 thinking to herself that Maude De Vere was the most 
 regal creature she had ever seen. 
 
 Maude had been in Rockland three weeks, and Hose 
 was already as much in love with her as if she had known 
 her all her life. At first, she had dreaded a little to meet 
 the fearless heroine of the mountains. A girl who had 
 held a revolver at the heads of both Federal and Confed 
 erate ; who, in the night, had ridden twenty miles on 
 horseback to conduct a party of refugees to a place of 
 safety, and had guarded the entrance of the cave in the 
 face of a furious mob, must be something very formida 
 ble, or, at least, something unlike all Rose's ideas of what 
 a lady gently born should be ; and both Rose and her 
 mother had waited nervously for the arrival of one who, 
 they felt sure, was to be the wife of Tom. Nothing de 
 finite had been said upon the subject since Arthur died, 
 but it was tacitly understood by all parties that Maude 
 De Vere was, sometime, to be Maude Caiieton ; and 
 Tom was allowed to pay her attentions which could only 
 be paid to his fiancee. 
 
 In a great flutte.r of spirits, Rose had heard of Maude's 
 arrival at the Monteur House, and immediately after din 
 ner had driven down to see her, accompanied by Will, 
 who, if possible, was more anxious than herself to pay 
 his respects to Maude. . 
 
 She was kneeling by Cnarlie's couch when the party 
 entered, but she rose at once and came forward, with the 
 most beautiful carnation staining her cheeks, and a look 
 of modesty in her brilliant eyes. She wore a long, 
 trailing dress of heavy silk, and stood so erect, and held 
 her head so high, that she seemed taller than she really
 
 IN EOCKLAND. 387 
 
 was, taller than Tom, Rose feared; but as lie stepped 
 up to her, she saw he had the advantage of her by at least 
 four inches, and thus reassured, she drew a long brerth 
 of relief; then, as thoughts of all her husband and brother 
 had been saved from by this heroic girl, came over her, 
 she sprang toward Maude, and winding her arms around 
 her neck, sobbed hysterically, but never spoke one word. 
 
 Ci What is it ? What are you crying for ?" Maude 
 asked, petting her as if she had been a little child. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. The sight of you who have done 
 . so much for the war, and been so brave, makes me seem 
 so little, so small, so mean beside you, Maude De Vere," 
 Rose replied, brokenly, and then Maude's eyes filled with 
 tears, and she hugged the sobbing little creature, whom, 
 from that moment, she loved so fondly. 
 
 She, too, had dreaded this meeting, for she knew that 
 Rose Mather and her mother were both women of the 
 highest culture, and she felt that they might criticise, 
 and perhaps condemn one who had lived so long among 
 the pines of North Carolina and the mountains of Ten 
 nessee. But Rose's manner divested her of all fear, 
 and ih a moment she resumed that unconscious air of 
 superiority to all else around her, which was a part of 
 herself. Queenly was the word which best suited her 
 looks and her manners, and Rose paid homage to her as 
 to a queen, and told her that she loved her, and how 
 much she had thought of her, and how anxious her 
 mother was to see her, and how happy they would all be 
 when Jirnmie and Annie came home. 
 
 There had been daily visits to the Monteur since then, 
 and Mrs. Carleton had met the beautiful Maude, and 
 mentally approved of Tom's choice. 
 
 Charlie too had been petted and caressed, and his blue 
 eyes opened with wonder as he saw what Northern wo-
 
 388 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 men were like, and remembered his prejudice against 
 them. He liked the Northerners, he said, but he was 
 loyal to the Southern cause, and listened, with flashing 
 eyes and crimson cheeks, to all he continually heard of 
 the sure defeat and disgrace of the Confederacy. 
 
 Matters were in this wise when the day came on which ' 
 Annie was expected home with Jimmie. Great prepara 
 tions had been made for that arrival. In Rockland 
 there was more than one prisoner who had been nursed 
 by Annie Graham, and her name was spoken with rever 
 ence and love by the veriest vagabond that walked the 
 streets. They had not made a demonstration in a long, 
 long time, but they were going to make one now, and the 
 honors which poor George saw in fancy awarded to him 
 self were to be given to his wife. Jimmie, too, whose 
 terrible sufferings had excited so much commiseration, 
 was to have his share of consideration. Bill Baker, who 
 had been home for a week, and was as usual the most 
 active spirit of all, suggested that when they flung out 
 the banner on which was inscribed, " Honor and welcome 
 to Annie Graham," they should give three cheers for Mr. 
 Carleton too. " Bein'," as he said, " that they are about 
 as good as one." 
 
 Prompt to the moment when it was. due, the train 
 swept round the Rockland curve and stopped at the 
 depot where a large concourse of people was gathered. 
 They had not expected the Widow Simms, and when her 
 green veil and straw bonnet appeared on the platform, 
 the foremost of the group looked a little disappointed, 
 while the widow's face darkened as she saw the waiting 
 multitude, and guessed why they were there. 
 
 Annie had appeared by this time, and at sight of her 
 the tongues were loosened, and deafening shouts of wel 
 come greeted her on every side. The flag bearing her
 
 TN BOCKLANIX 389 
 
 name -was hold aloft, tlie cannon in the adjoining field 
 sent forth its bellowing roar, and the band struck up the 
 sweet refrain of "Annie Laurie;" while the voices of the 
 Andersonville prisoners, who had been Annie's charge, 
 sang the last line: 
 
 " And for bonnie Annie Graham I would lay me down and die." ' 
 
 Surely this was a coming home which Annie had never 
 looked for, and with her face flushed with excitement, 
 and her eyes shining with tears, she stood in the midst 
 of the shouting throng, gazing wonderingly from one to 
 the other, and realizing nothing clearly, except the firm 
 clasp upon her arm. 
 
 It was Jimmie's hand, and Jimmie himself leaned upon 
 her, as the crowd coupled his name with hers, and hur 
 rahed for " James Carleton and Annie Graham." 
 
 " And the Widder Simms, I swan if it's fair to leave 
 her out. She did some tall nussin' down to Annapolis," 
 Bill Baker said; and then the widow was cheered, and 
 she acknowledged the compliment with a grim smile, 
 and wondered when " folks would quit making fools of 
 themselves, and if Susan wasn't up there, somewhere, in 
 the jam. Of course she was; 'twas like them Ruggleses 
 to go where the doins was." 
 
 And while she shook the hand of her neighbors, she 
 kept her eyes on the watch for Susan, and felt a little 
 chagrined that she did not find her. 
 
 Susan was at home in the neat little house which John 
 had bought with his captain's wages, so carefully saved. 
 ,The same house it was at which Annie Graham had 
 looked with longing eyes, in the commencement of the 
 war; and in the pleasant chamber which overlooked the 
 town there was a little boy who had been in Rock! and only 
 a week, and whose existence was as yet unknown to the
 
 390 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 widow. They had purposely kept it from her, so sho 
 had no suspicion that he was expected; and the first 
 genuine feeling of happiness she had known since Isaac 
 died, she experienced when she was ushered into Susan's 
 room, and the little red-faced thing was laid in her lap. 
 She had looked askance at the new house, and neat furni 
 ture, and the pretty curtains, as so many proofs of " them 
 Ruggleses" extravagance; but she was not proof against 
 the white face which, from the pillows, smiled so kindly 
 upon her, and called her mother. And she was guilty of 
 kissing her daughter-in-law, even before she saw the baby, 
 her first grandchild, whom Susan called Isaac, although 
 she hated the name, and had tacked on to it Adolphus, 
 with the hope that the future would adjust the name 
 into Adolph, or something more fanciful than the good, 
 plain Bible Isaac. And while the widow kissed and 
 wept over her grandson, and felt herself growing young, 
 and soft, and gentle again, the crowd around the depot 
 had dispersed, a part going to their own homes, and a 
 part following the soldiers and band which escorted 
 Annie Graham and Jimmie Carleton to the Mather 
 mansion, where everything had been made so beautiful 
 for them. 
 
 It was a pleasant coming home, and a most ample 
 compensation for all the weariness and privation which 
 Annie, as hospital nurse, had endured, and she felt that 
 far more was awarded to her than she deserved. 
 
 " Mr. Carleton was the one to be honored," she said, 
 and her soft, blue eyes rested upon the pale, tired man, 
 who, exhausted with his journey and the excitement, lay 
 down at once upon the sofa, while his mother and Rose 
 knelt beside him and kissed, and pitied, and cried over 
 his poor white face, and long, bony nands, which were 
 almost transparent in their whiteness.
 
 IN KOCKLAND. 391 
 
 Maude was not one of the party at the Mather man 
 sion that night. 
 
 "You ought to be alone the first night," she said, 
 when Rose insisted that she should join them. "To 
 morrow I will come round and call on Mrs. Graham and 
 your brother." 
 
 She had been greatly interested in all the arrange 
 ments, and was curious to see the woman who had almost 
 been her rival, while Annie was quite as curious to see 
 her, the heroine of the mountains. In her letters to 
 Annie, Rose had purposely refrained from mentioning 
 Tom's name with Maude's, so that Annie was ignorant 
 of the real state of things. But she did not remain so 
 long. 
 
 "Is she so very beautiful?" she said to Rose, when, 
 after supper, they were* all assembled in the parlor, and 
 Maude was the subject of conversation. 
 
 " Ask Tom; he can tell you," Rose replied, and by the 
 conscious look on Tom's face, Annie guessed the truth at 
 once. 
 
 That night, when the two brothers were alone in their 
 room, Tom said to Jimmie: 
 
 "Well, my boy, I've kept my word, I've waited a 
 year and more. I've given you every chance a reason 
 able man could ask. Have you made a proper use of 
 your privileges ? Would it do me any good to try and 
 win Annie now ?" 
 
 " You can try if you like," Jimmie said, with a smile. 
 And then Tom told him of his hopes concerning Maude 
 De Vere, and Jimmie said to him saucily: 
 
 "Don't you remember I told you once you had had 
 your day? But some lucky dogs have two, and you, it 
 eeems, are one of them."
 
 392 BOSE. MATHER. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVTEL 
 
 THE LOVERS. 
 
 sHE next day brought Maude De Vere, looking so 
 handsome in her black dress, with her coquet 
 tish drab hat and long drab feather tipped with 
 scarlet, that she reminded Annie of some bright tropical 
 flower as she came into the room with the sparkle in her 
 brilliant eyes, and the deep, rich bloom upon her cheek. 
 She had regained her health and spirits rapidly within the 
 last few weeks, and even Ji ramie, who seldom saw beyond 
 Annie's fair face and soft blue eyes, drew a breath of won 
 der at the queenly girl who completely overshadowed those 
 around her so far as size and form and physical develop 
 ment were concerned. But nothing could detract from 
 the calm, quiet dignity of Annie's manner, or from the 
 pure, angelic beauty of her face, and as the two stood hold 
 ing each other's hands and looking into each other's eyes, 
 they made a most striking tableau, and Mrs. Carleton 
 thought, with a thrill of pride, how well her sons had 
 chosen. 
 
 That night, as Maude was walking back to the hotel 
 accompanied by Tom, he asked her again the question 
 put in the cave of the Cumberland. 
 
 "I understand about Arthur," he said; "but he is 
 dead ; there is no promise now in the way. I claim you 
 for my own. Am I wrong in doing so ?" 
 
 That Maude's reply was wholly satisfactory was proved 
 by the expression of Tom Carleton's face when at last he 
 stopped at the door of the hotel, and by the kiss which
 
 THE LOVERS. 393 
 
 burned on Maude's lips long after he had disappeared 
 down the street. 
 
 The next afternoon, while Tom was with Maude, and 
 both Mrs. Carleton and Eose were out on a shopping 
 expedition, Annie sat alone with Jimmie in the pleasant 
 little room which had been given to him as a place where 
 he would be more quiet than in the parlor. Annie had 
 been playing with Hose's boy, the little Jimmie, a hand 
 some, sturdy fellow of nearly a year old, whom the en 
 tire household spoiled. He was already beginning to 
 talk, and having taken a fancy 'to Annie, he tried to call 
 her name, and made out of it a tolerably distinct " Auntee," 
 which brought a blush to Annie's face, and a teasing 
 smile to Jimmie's. 
 
 " Come, sit by me a moment, Annie," Jimmie said, 
 when the child had been taken out by his nurse. " Sit 
 on this stool, so, a little nearer to me, there, that's 
 right," he continued, in the tone of authority he had un 
 consciously acquired since his convalescence. 
 
 He was lying upon the couch, and Annie was sitting at 
 his side and so near to him that his long fingers could 
 smooth and caress her shining hair, while his saucy eyes 
 feasted themselves upon her face, as he asked " when she 
 would really be the auntie of the little boy who called 
 her now by that name." 
 
 " Not till you are able to stand alone," was Annie's re 
 ply, and then, for the first time since his return from An- 
 clersonville, Jimmie spoke of that episode in his life at 
 New London, when little Lulu Howard had stirred his 
 boyish blood, and filled his boyish fancy. 
 
 "Perhaps he wanted to tease Annie, for he said to her: 
 
 "I did like that little blue-eyed Lu, that's a fact. 
 I used to think about her all day, and dream about her 
 all night. I wonder where she is now."
 
 394 ROSE MATHEE. 
 
 " What would you do if you knew ?" Annie asked, and 
 Jiinmie replied: 
 
 " I believe I would go miles to see her, just to know 
 what kind of a woman she has developed into. I trust 
 she is not like her aunt. I could not endure her. She 
 struck me as a hard, selfish, ambitious woman, terribly 
 afraid lest the world generally should not think Mrs. 
 Scott Belknap all which Mrs. Scott Belknap thought her 
 self to be." 
 
 Annie's cheeks were very red by this time, and imput 
 ing her heightened color to a cause widely different from 
 the real one, Jirnmie drew her face down to his, and kiss 
 ing the burning cheeks, said: 
 
 " Of course I should take you with me, when I went 
 after little Lu." 
 
 " You would hardly find her if you did not," Annie 
 said, while Jimmie looked inquiringly at her. 
 
 Annie had only been waiting for Jimmie to speak of 
 the little Pequot, before making her own confession, and 
 she now said to him abruptly : 
 
 " Did Lulu look any like me ? " 
 
 * " Why, yes. I've always thought so, only she was 
 younger, and had short hair, you know, and short 
 dresses, too. Annie, Annie, tell me, was she, do you, 
 are you " Jimmie began, raising himself upright upon 
 the couch, as something in Annie's expression began to 
 puzzle and mystify him. 
 
 " Am I what ?" Annie asked. " Am I little Lulu of 
 the Pequot House? My name was Annie Louise Howard 
 before I married George. My aunt called me Louise. 
 You never inquired my maiden name, I believe. I sup 
 pose you thought I had always been a married woman, 
 but I was a girl of fourteen once, and went with my 
 Aunt Belknap to New London, and met a boy who called
 
 THE LOVEKS. 395 
 
 himself Dick Lee, and who was so kind to the orphan girl, 
 that she began to think of him all day, and watch for his 
 coming after his school hours. He was a saucy, teasing 
 boy, but Lulu liked him, and when one day she waited 
 for his promised coming till it grew dark upon the 
 beach, and the great hotel was lighted up for the evening 
 festivity, and. when other days and nights passed, and he 
 neither came nor sent her any word, and she heard at 
 last from one of his comrades that he had gone home to 
 Boston, I say, when all this came about she began to 
 think that she had loved the boy who deceived her so, for 
 he did deceive her in more points than one, as she after 
 ward learned. His name was not Dick Lee " 
 
 " But, Annie," Jimmie began, and Annie stopped him, 
 saying: 
 
 " Wait, Jimmie, till I am through. This is my hour 
 now. I have delayed telling you all this, for various 
 reasons. Your mother knew who I was before I went 
 to Washington, and she excused you as far as was possi 
 ble. That I have promised to be your wife is proof that 
 I have forgiven the pangs of disappointment I endured ; 
 for, Jimmie, I did suffer for a time. There was so little 
 in the world to make me happy, and you had been so 
 kind, that I fully believed in and trusted you; and when 
 I found I was deceived, my heart ached as hard, perhaps, 
 as the heart of a girl of fourteen can ache from such a 
 cause." 
 
 "Poor Annie! poor little Lulu!" Jimmie said, as he 
 clasped one of Annie's hands in his own, and his voice 
 expressed all the sorrow and tenderness he felt for Annie, 
 who continued: 
 
 " Such childish loves are usually short-lived, you know, 
 but mine was the first pleasant dream I had known since 
 my parents died, and I went to my Aunt Belknap, in New
 
 396 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 Haven. She meant to be kind, I suppose, and in a cer 
 tain way she was. She gave DIB a good education, and 
 every advantage within her means. She took me to 
 Newport and Saratoga, and the New York hotels, and 
 she turned her back on George Graham, whom we met 
 at Long Branch, where he was making some repairs upon 
 an engine. A mechanic was not her idea of a husband 
 for her niece. She preferred that I should marry a man 
 of sixty, who had already the portraits of three wives in 
 his handsome house at Meriden; but then, for each por 
 trait he counted over two hundred thousand dollars, and 
 half a million covers a multitude of defects and a 
 great many wives! I would not marry that man, and as 
 the result of my persistent refusal, my life with my aunt 
 became so unbearable that, when Providence again threw 
 George in my way, and he asked me to be his wife, I 
 consented, and I never regretted the step. He was very 
 kind to me, and I loved him so much, that when he died, 
 I thought my heart died too, for he was my all." 
 
 Annie was very beautiful in her excitement as she 
 paid this tribute to her deceased husband, and Jirnrnie 
 saw that she was beautiful, but felt relieved when she left 
 George Graham, and spoke of Rose, who had come to 
 her like an angel of light, and made the burden easier to 
 bear. 
 
 " I had no suspicion that she was the soi-disant Dick 
 Lee's sister, or that my boy -hero was not Dick Lee, un 
 til just before you came home for the first time, and then 
 I thought I must go away, for I did not care to meet 
 you. But Rose prevented me, and I am glad now that 
 she did." 
 
 " And I am glad, too," Jimmie said. " Your staying 
 has been the means of untold good to me, darling, it 
 was the memory of your sweet, holy life and character
 
 CHAELIE. 397 
 
 which led me, a wretch at Andersonville, to seek the 
 Saviour whom you have loved so long. God has led us 
 both in strange paths. We have suffered a great deal, 
 you mentally, I physically, and only what I deserved; but 
 let us hope that the night is passed, and the morning of 
 our happy future dawning upon us. "We are both young 
 yet, you twenty-three, and I only twenty-six. We have 
 a long life to look forward to, and I thank God for it ; 
 but most of all, I thank Him for giving me my darling 
 Annie, my dear little Lulu ! Does Eose know that you 
 are Lulu?" 
 
 Mrs. Carleton had thought it better not to add to 
 Eose's excitement by telling her who Annie was, while 
 Jinimie's fate was shrouded in so much gloom; then, 
 after his return, she decided that Annie should have the 
 satisfaction of telling herself, and thus Eose was still in 
 ignorance with regard to Annie's identity with the Pe- 
 quot. But Annie told her that night, and Eose's eyes 
 were like stars, as she smothered Annie with kisses, and 
 declared it was all like some strange story she had read. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 CHARLIE. 
 
 ' E did not improve as his sister and uncle hoped 
 he might ; and as the cold weather increased, 
 they began to talk of taking him to a warmer 
 climate, but Charlie said: 
 
 " I am as well here as I could be anywhere. I don't 
 want to be moved about. Let me stay here in quiet." 
 So they made him as comfortable as possible at the
 
 398 EOSE MATHEK. 
 
 hotel, and Rose and Annie came every day to see him; 
 and he learned to watch and listen for their corning, 
 especially that of Annie, to whom he took the kindliest. 
 She knew just how to nurse him. and as she once cared 
 for the poor prisoners, so she now cared for the Southern 
 boy, who, while acknowledging the kindness of the 
 Northern people, was still as thorough a Secessionist as 
 he had ever been. Anxiously he waited for daily news of 
 the progress of Grant's army, refusing to believe that 
 Lee was so closely shut up in Richmond that escape was 
 impossible. Blindly, like many of his older brethren, he 
 clung to the hope, that underlying the whole was some 
 hidden motive which would in time appear and work 
 good to his cause. Maude never opposed or disputed 
 with him now, but read him every little item of good for 
 the South. But when, in the spring, the fighting at Pe 
 tersburg commenced, there were no such items to read, 
 and Charlie asked no longer for news. Then there came a 
 never-to-be-forgotten day, when through the length and 
 breadth of the land, the glad tidings ran that Richmond 
 had fallen; that Lee with his army was flying from the city, 
 with Grant in hot pursuit. The war was virtually over; 
 and from Maine to Oregon the air was filled with the 
 jubilant notes of victory. For three long hours the bells 
 of Rockland rang out their merry peals, and at night 
 they kindled bonfires in the streets; and on the grass- 
 plat by the well in Widow Sinims' yard, they burned 
 the box, which, four years before, poor Isaac had put 
 away for just such an occasion as this. 
 
 AH the morning of that memorable Monday, while the 
 beUs were ringing, and the crowds were shouting in the 
 streets, Charlie De Vere had lain with his white face to 
 the wall, and his lips quivering with the grief and morti 
 fication he felt, that it should have ended thus. Oc-
 
 CHARLIE. 399 
 
 casionally, as the shouts grew louder, he stopped his 
 ears, so as to shut out what seemed to him like exulta 
 tions over the death of so many hopes; but when Annie 
 came in, and told Maude of the bonfire they were to have 
 that night in Mrs. Simms' yard, and asked her to come 
 for the sake of the boy whose box was to be burned, 
 Charlie began to listen. And as he listened, he grew 
 interested in Isaac Simms and the grass-plat by the 
 well, and the box hidden in the barn, and he expressed a 
 wish to be present when it was burned. Maude, too, had 
 heard of Isaac Simms before. She knew that he had been 
 captured by Arthur Tunbridge, but she did not know the 
 particulars of his prison life, or how generously Tom had 
 sacrificed his chance of liberty for the sake of the poor, 
 sick boy, until Annie told the story, to which she lis 
 tened with swimming eyes and a heart throbbing with 
 love and respect for her lover, who had been so noble 
 and unselfish. She would go to the bonfire on the 
 grass-plat, she said; and Charlie should go too. He had 
 wept passionately at the recital of Isaac's sufferings in 
 Libby, but still found some excuse for the South gen 
 erally. 
 
 "It was not the better class of people," he said, " who 
 did these things; it was the lower, ignorant ones, whose 
 instincts were naturally brutal." 
 
 And neither Maude nor Annie contradicted him, 
 though the eyes of the former flashed indignantly, and 
 her nostrils quivered as they always did when the suffer 
 ings of our prisoners were mentioned in her presence. 
 
 That night, when the stars came out over Rockland, 
 a party of twelve or more was congregated at the house 
 of the widow Simms, where, but for the sad memory of 
 Isaac, whose soldier-coat hung on the wall, with the knap 
 sack carried into battle, all would have been joy and hi-
 
 400 EOSE MATHER. 
 
 larity at the prospect of certain peace. But death had 
 been in that household, just as it had crept across many 
 and many another threshold; and mingled with the re 
 joicings were tears and sad regrets for the dead of our 
 land, whose graves were everywhere, from the shadowy 
 forests of Maine, and the vast prairies of the "West, to the 
 sunny plains of the South, where they fought and died. 
 There were twenty-five buried in the Rockland grave 
 yard; and others than the party assembled at Mrs. 
 Simms, thought of the vacant chairs at home, and the 
 sleeping dead whose ears were deaf to the notes of peace 
 floating so musically over the land. Charlie's face was 
 very white, and there were tears in his eyes as he laid his 
 thin, white hands reverently upon the box, examining its 
 make, and bending close to the name, and date, and 
 words cut upon it. "Isaac Simms, Rockland, April 25th, 
 
 1861. This box to be burned " There was a blank 
 
 which the boy, who had cut the words with his jack-knife, 
 could not supply. He did not know when the box would 
 be burned. Then it was April, 1861 ; now it was April, 
 1865. Four years of strife and bloodshed, thousands and 
 thousands of desolate hearth-stones, and broken hearts, 
 and lifeless forms both North and South, and the end 
 had come at last. But the boy Isaac was not there to see 
 it. It was not for him to fill up that blank ; but for the 
 Southern boy, Charlie De Vere, who took his pencil from 
 his pocket, and wrote, "April 3d, 1865, to celebrate the fall 
 of Richmond, and the end- of the Confederacy. Charles 
 De Vere." 
 
 " Who shall light the pile ?" Tom asked, when all was 
 ready. And Charlie answered, " Let me, please. Surely I 
 may light the fire !" 
 
 And he did light it, and then, with the rest, looked on 
 while the smoke and the flames curled up toward the
 
 CHARLIE. 401 
 
 starry heavens where the boy Isaac had gone, and where 
 Charlie in his dreams that night saw him so distinctly, 
 and grasped his friendly hand. 
 
 After that night, Charlie failed rapidly, and often in 
 his sleep, he talked to some one who seemed to be Ar 
 thur, and said it was "a mistake, a dreadful mistake." 
 At last, as Maude sat by him one day, the fifth after the 
 bonfire on the grass-plat, he said to her suddenly: 
 
 " Maude, if a man kills another and didn't mean to, is 
 it murder?" 
 
 "No, it is manslaughter. Why do you ask?" Maude 
 said; and Charlie continued: 
 
 "Don't hate me, Maude, nor tell any body, for /killed 
 Arthur, myself. I shot him right through the head, 
 and Maude, he thought it was you /" 
 
 "Oh ! Charlie ! Charlie !" and Maude shrieked aloud as 
 she bent over her brother, who continued: 
 
 " Not when he died, but at first, when he lay there on 
 the grass, moaning and looking at you so sorry and 
 grieved like, don't you remember ?" 
 
 "Yes!" Maude gasped; and Charlie went on : 
 
 " You know that one of the ruffians fired at Captain 
 Carleton and hit you, and then I could not help paying 
 him back. He was taller than Arthur, who stood behind 
 him, and knocked him down in time to take the ball him 
 self. He knew you had a revolver, and he thought it 
 was you, though an accident, of course, and it made him 
 so sorry that you should be the one to kill him. But I 
 told him different; when I whispered to him, you know. 
 I said it was I, and his eyes put on such a happy look. 
 I know he forgave me, for he said so; but my heart has 
 ached ever since with thinking about it. I could not for 
 get it; and I've asked God to forgive me so many times. 
 I think he has; and that when I die, I shall go where
 
 402 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 Isaac Sirnms lias gone. I like him, Maude, if lie ivas a 
 Yankee, and fought against us; and I like Mrs. Graham 
 so much; and Mr. James Carleton, and the Mathers, and 
 Mrs. Simms, some; but I can't like that dreadful Bill Ba 
 ker, with his slang words and vulgar ways; he makes me 
 so sick, and I feel so ashamed that we should be beaten 
 by such as he." 
 
 "You were not beaten by such as he! You are mis 
 taken, Charlie! The Northern army was composed of 
 many of the noblest men in the world. There are Bill 
 Bakers everywhere, as many South as North. It is fool 
 ish to think otherwise." 
 
 Maude was growing hot and eloquent in her defense 
 of the Northern army, but Charlie's gentle, low-spoken 
 reply, stopped her: 
 
 " Perhaps it is. I got terribly perplexed thinking it 
 all over, and how it has turned out. I think yes, I 
 know I am glad the negroes are free. We never abused 
 them. Uncle Paul never abused them. But there were 
 those who did; and if slavery is a Divine institution, as 
 we are taught to believe, it was a broken down and 
 badly conducted institution, and not at all as God meant 
 it to be managed." 
 
 Charlie paused a moment, and when he spoke again, 
 it was of Tom, who had been so kind to him. 
 
 " He is like a brother to me, Maude, and I am glad you 
 are to be his wife. And Maude, don't wait after I am 
 dead, but marry Captain Carleton at once. You will be 
 happier then." 
 
 With tears and kisses Maude bent over her brother, 
 who after that confession seemed so much brighter 
 and more cheerful, that hope sometimes whispered to 
 Maude that he would live. Annie was almost constantly 
 with him now. He felt better and stronger with her, ha
 
 CHARLIE. 403 
 
 said, and death was not so terrible. So, just as she had 
 soothed, and comforted, and nursed many a poor fellow 
 from Arfdersonville, Annie comforted and nursed Charlie 
 De Vere, until that dreadful Saturday when the tele 
 graphic wires brought up from the South the appalling 
 news that our President was dead, murdered by the 
 assassin's hand. 
 
 "No, no, not that. We did not do that," Charlie 
 cried, with a look of horror in his blue eyes when he 
 heard the dreadful story, and that the Southern leaders 
 were suspected of complicity in the murder. 
 
 " It would make me a Unionist, if I believed my peo 
 ple capable of that; but they are not, it cannot be," 
 Charlie kept repeating to himself, while the great drops 
 of sweat stood upon his white forehead, and his pulse 
 and heart beat so rapidly, that Maude summoned the at 
 tending physician, who shook his head doubtfully at the 
 great change for the worse in his patient. 
 
 " I had hoped at least to keep him till the warm weath 
 er, but, I am afraid those bells will be the death of him," 
 he said, as he saw how Charlie shivered and moaned with 
 each sound of the tolling bells. 
 
 ' ' Perhaps they would stop if you were to ask them, 
 and tell them why," Annie suggested to Maude; but 
 Charlie, who heard it, exclaimed, 
 
 "No, let them toll on. It is proper they should mourn 
 for him. The South would do the same if it was our 
 President who had been murdered." 
 
 So the bells tolled on, and the public buildings were 
 draped in mourning, and the windows of Charlie's room 
 were festooned with black, and he watched the sombre 
 drapery as it swayed in the April wind, and talked of the 
 terrible deed, and the war which was ended, and the 
 world to which so many thousands had gone during the 
 long four years of strife and bloodshed.
 
 404 ROSE MATHER. 
 
 "I shall be there to-morrow," he said, "and then per 
 haps I shall know why all this has been done, and if we 
 were so wrong." 
 
 Maude and Annie, Paul Haverill and Tom Carleton 
 watched with him through the night, and just as the 
 beautiful Easter morning broke, and the sunlight fell 
 upon the Rockland hills, the boy who to the last had re 
 mained true to the Southern cause, lay dead among the 
 people who had been his foes. 
 
 At Maude's request they buried him by the side of 
 Isaac Simms, and Capt. Carleton ordered a handsome 
 monument, on which the names of both the boys were cut, 
 Isaac Simms, who had died for the North, and Charlie 
 De Vere, who, if need be, would have given his life for 
 the South, each holding entirely different political senti 
 ments, but both holding the same living faith which 
 made for them an entrance to the world where all is per 
 fect peace, and where we who now see through a glass 
 darkly shall then see face to face, and know why these 
 things are so. 
 
 Six months had passed since Charlie De Vere died. 
 Paul Haverill, "Will Mather, and Captain Carleton had 
 been together on a pilgrimage to Paul's old neighbor 
 hood, where the people, wiser grown, welcomed back 
 their old friend and neighbor, and strove in various ways 
 to atone for all which had been cruel and harsh in their 
 former dealing toward him. The war had left them 
 destitute, so far as negroes and money were concerned; 
 but such as they had they freely offered Paul, entreating 
 him to stay in their midst and rebuild the homestead, 
 whose blackened ruins bore testimony to what men's 
 passions will lead them, to do when roused and uncon-
 
 CHAKLIE. 405 
 
 trilled. But Paid said no; he could never again live 
 where there was so much to remind him of the past. A 
 little way out of Nashville was a beautiful dwelling-house, 
 which, with a few acres of highly cultivated land, was 
 offered for sale. 
 
 Maude had spoken of the place when she was in the 
 city, and had said: 
 
 " I should like to live there." 
 
 And Tom had remembered it; and when he found it 
 for sale, he suggested to Mr. Haverill that they buy it as 
 a winter residence for Maude. And so what little 
 property Paul Haverill had left was invested in Fair Oaks, 
 as the place was called; and Tom gave orders that the 
 house should be refurnished and ready for himself and 
 bride as early as the first of November. 
 
 As far as was possible, Will and Tom found and gener 
 ously rewarded those who had so kindly befriended them 
 in their perilous journey across the mountains. 
 
 But some were missing, and only their graves remained 
 to tell the story of their wrongs, 
 
 This trip was made in June, and early in August, the 
 whole Carleton family went to New London, where 
 Jimmie improved so fast that few would have recognized 
 the pale, thin invalid, of Andersonville notoriety, in the 
 active, red-cheeked, saucy-eyed young man, who became 
 the life of the Pequot House, and for whom the gay belles 
 practiced their most bewitching coquetries. 
 
 But these were all lost on Jimmie, who was seldom 
 many minutes away from the fair, blue-eyed woman, 
 who, the girls had learned, was a widow, and of whom 
 they at first had no fears. But they changed their minds 
 when day after day saw the "handsome Carleton" at 
 her side, and night after night found him walking with 
 her along the road, or sitting on the rocks and watching
 
 406 EOSE MATJIEK. 
 
 the tide come in, just as he had done years ago, when 
 both were younger than they were now. They lived 
 those days over again, and, in their perfect happiness, 
 almost forgot the sorrow and pain which had come to 
 them both since they first looked out upon the waters of 
 New London bay. 
 
 Tom and Maude were there, too, together with Eose 
 Mather and Will, and Susan Simms and John. 
 
 A well-timed investment in oil stock, a lucky turn of 
 the wheel, and Captain John Simms awoke, one morn 
 ing, with one hundred thousands dollars ! He did not 
 believe it at first, and Susan did not believe it either. 
 But when John, who, with all his good sense, was a little 
 given to show, or, as his mother expressed it, " to mak 
 ing a fool of himself," brought her a set of diamonds, 
 handsomer than Kose Mather's, and bought her a new 
 carriage, and took her to Saratoga, with an English 
 nurse for little Ike, she began to realize that something 
 had happened to her which brought Rose Mather's envied 
 style of living within her means. 
 
 She soon grew tired of Saratoga. She was too much 
 alone in that great crowd, and when she heard that the 
 Carletons were at New London she went there with her 
 diamonds and horses, and, patronized by Eose, who 
 took her at once under her protection, she made a few 
 pleasant acquaintances, and ever after talked confi 
 dently of her "summer at the sea-side." She did not 
 care to go again, however. " She and John were not 
 exactly like people born to high life," she said, and so 
 she settled quietly down in her pretty home, and made, 
 as the Widow Simms said, "quite a decent woman, con- 
 siderin' that she was one of them Euggleses." , 
 
 Bill Baker was astir very early one bright, October 
 morning, his face indicating that some important event
 
 CHARLIE. 407 
 
 was pending in which he was to act a part. It was a 
 double wedding at St. Luke's, and Maude and Annie were 
 the brides. There was a great crowd to witness the cer 
 emony, and Annie's " boys " whom she had nursed at An 
 napolis, were the first to offer their congratulations to Mrs. 
 James Carleton, who looted so fair and pure and lovely, 
 while Maude, whose beauty was of a more brilliant order, 
 seemed to sparkle and flash as she bent her stately head 
 in response to the greetings given to her. 
 
 Upon Bill, who had turned hack-driver, devolved the 
 honor of taking the bridal party to and from the church, 
 and his horses were covered with the Federal flag, while 
 conspicuous in his button-hcle was a small one made of 
 white silk and presented to him by a girl whom he called 
 "Em," and who blushed every time she heard Bill's 
 voice ordering the crowd to stand back and his horses 
 to " show their oats," as he drove from the church with 
 the newly-married people. 
 
 Their destination was Nashville, where, in Maude's 
 beautiful home, Jimmie and Annie passed a few delight 
 ful weeks, and then returned to Boston to the old Carle- 
 ton house on Beacon Street, which had been fitted up for 
 their reception. * 
 
 Mrs. Carleton, senior, divides her time between her 
 three childrem, Tom, Jimmie and Rose, but her home 
 proper is with Annie, in Boston, where there is now a 
 little "Lulu Graham," six months old, and where Hose 
 and Will often go, while each summer Tom Carleton 
 comes up from Fair Oaks with his beautiful Maude, the 
 heroine of the Cumberland Mountains. 
 
 THE END.
 
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