altogether willingly. "You may see more over there than you want to
see, young man," said he.

Franklin went on, following as nearly as he could the line of the
assault of the previous day, a track all too boldly marked by the
horrid _debris_ of the fight. As he reached the first edge of the
wood, where the victorious column had made its entrance, it seemed to
him that there could have been no such thing as war. A gray rabbit
hopped comfortably across the field. Merry squirrels scampered and
scolded in the trees overhead. The jays jangled and bickered, it is
true, but a score of sweet-voiced, peaceful-throated birds sang bravely
and contentedly as though there had never been a sound more discordant
than their own speech. The air was soft and sweet, just cold enough to
stir the leaves upon the trees and set them whispering intimately. The
sky, new washed by the rain which had fallen in the night, was clean
and bright and sweet to look upon, and the sun shone temperately warm.
All about was the suggestion of calm and rest and happiness. Surely it
had been a dream! There could have been no battle here.

This that had been a dream was changed into a horrid nightmare as the
young officer advanced into the wood. About him lay the awful
evidences. Coats, caps, weapons, bits of gear, all marked and
emphasized with many, many shapeless, ghastly things. Here they lay,
these integers of the line, huddled, jumbled. They had all the
contortions, all the frozen ultimate agonies left for survivors to see
and remember, so that they should no more go to war. Again, they lay
so peacefully calm that all the lesson was acclaim for happy, painless
war. One rested upon his side, his arm beneath his head as though he
slept. Another sat against a tree, his head fallen slightly forward,
his lax arms allowing his hands to droop plaintively, palms upward and