place called Rich Mountain, in Western Virginia, and Harry Glen's---"

"O, father," she said, growing very white, "Harry's killed."

"No; not killed." The old man's lip curled with scorn. "It's
worse. He seems to've suddenly discovered he wasn't prepared to
die; he didn't want to rush all at once into the presence of his
Maker. Mebbe he didn't think it'd be good manners. You know he
was always stronger on etikwet than anything else. In short, he's
showed the white feather. A dozen or more letters have come from
the boys telling all about it, and the town's talking of nothing
else. There's one of the letters. It's from Jake Alspaugh, who
quite working for me to enlist. Read it yourself."

The old gentleman threw the letter upon the grass, and strode on
angrily into the house. Rachel smoothed out the crumpled sheet,
and read with a growing sickness at heart:


Mr. Bond--Deer Sur:

i taik my pen in hand to lett you no that with the exception of an
occashunal tuch of roomaticks, an boonions all over my fete from
hard marchin, ime all rite, an i hope you ar injoin the saim blessin.
Weve jest had an awful big fite, and the way we warmed it to the
secshers jest beat the jews. i doant expect theyve stopt runnin
yit. All the Sardis boys done bully except Lieutenant Harry Glen.
The smell of burnt powder seamed to onsettle his narves. He tuk
powerful sick all at wunst, jest as the trail was gittin rather
fresh, and he lay groanin wen the rest of the company marched off