had been terribly anxious, too, about his father, but a letter written
just after the battle of Perryville, and coming through with unusual
promptness by the way of Chattanooga and Richmond, had arrived the
day before, informing him of Colonel Kenton's safety. In this letter
his father had spoken of his meeting with Dick Mason in his home at
Pendleton, and that also contributed to his new lightness of heart.
Dick was not a brother, but he stood in the place of one, and it was
good to hear again of him.

The sounds of shouts and laughter far up and down the Opequon became
steady and soothing. The October winds blowing gently were crisp and
fresh, but not too cold. The four boys ceased talking and Harry on his
bed of leaves became drowsy. The forests on the far hills and mountains
burned in vivid reds and yellows and browns, painted by the master hand
of autumn. Harry heard a bird singing on a bough among red leaves
directly over his head, and the note was piercingly sweet to ears used
so long to the roar of cannon and rifles.

His drowsy lids sank lower and he would have gone to sleep had he not
been roused by a shouting farther down the little river. His eyes
opened wide and he sat up.

"What is it, George?" he said to Dalton.

"I don't know, but here comes Captain Sherburne, and I'll ask him."

Sherburne was approaching with long strides, his face flushed with
enthusiasm.

"What is it, Captain?" asked Harry. "What are the boys shouting about?"