for us to see you do the work meant for the slaves. You go to mill and
help them cook and work and sew; and if you and Charlotte ever grieve or
worry--why, we don't find it out.

Fair. Oh, you're praising us too much. We girls can't fight; I
sometimes wish we could. But we can work, and when that work's for
General Morgan, there's nothing that's too hard for us to do.

Mrs. S. We seem to give so little to the cause; we have so little
left, only our work. That's such a comfort to feel we can do something.
When the fighting's near, and all night long we hear the musketry and
cannon, and when the thought comes that you and George are going to the
front, it seems more than we can bear. I fix a light out there on the
front porch, and wonder how the fighting's going on. Bev always stands
out by the gate and listens for the sound of firing coming near. 'Tis
hard to keep him then, he wants so terribly to fight with you and
George. But through those nights that come so often to us now we have
our work, and all night long we sit and sew and knit and listen. Oh,
then the work's a comfort to feel and know we're doing it for you.

Col. S. And we out there, who fight, are called the heroes.

Fair. Father, must you go to-morrow? The wound can't quite be
well. Stay for a few more days. Why, I feel as though I'd hardly seen
you for a moment.

Mrs. S. (who has quietly taken his hand in both her own during
Fair's last speech). To-morrow, dear, and we should thank God he can go.
But let's think of to-night; to-morrow's not here yet, and we have still
to-night.