CHAPTER IV.--THE MEETING.

It was evening, IT was. The Star of the Evening, Beautiful Star,
shone brilliantly, adorning the sky with those "Neutral" tints
which have characterized all British skies ever since this War
broke out.

Philander sat on the Canada Line, playing with his Yard-stick,
and perhaps about to take the measure of an unmade piece of
calico; when Mabel, with a wild cry of joy, sprang from a small
boat to his side. The meeting was too much. They divided a good
square faint between them this time. At last Philander found his
utterance, and said, "Do they think of me at Home, do they ever
think of me?"

"No," she replied, "but they do at the recruiting office."

"Ha! 'tis well."

"Nay, dearest," Mabel pleaded, "come home and go to the war like
a man! I will take your place in the Dry Goods store. True, a
musket is a little heavier than a yardstick, but isn't it a
rather more manly weapon?"

"I don't see it," was Philander's reply; "besides, this war isn't
conducted accordin' to the Constitution and Union. When it is--
when it is, Mabeyuel, I will return and enlist as a
Convalescent!"

"Then, sir," she said, with much American disgust in her