"This way," he said. "Not more than four or five hundred yards.
There, that's General Jackson's tent!"

Harry leaped from his horse as he came near and made a rush for the
tent. The flap was open, but a sentinel who stood in front put up his
rifle, and barred the way. A low monotone came from within the tent.

"The General's praying," he said. "I can't let you in for a minute or
two."

Harry took off his hat and stood in silence while the two minutes
lasted. All his haste was suddenly gone from him. The strong affection
that he felt for Jackson was tinged at times with awe, and this awe was
always strongest when the general was praying. He knew that the prayer
was no affectation, that it came from the bottom of his soul, like that
of a crusader, asking forgiveness for his sins.

The monotone ceased, the soldier took down his rifle which was held like
a bar across the way, and Harry, entering, saluted his general, who was
sitting in the half light at a table, reading a little book, which the
lad guessed was a pocket Bible.

Harry saluted and Jackson looked at him gravely.

"You've come back alone, it seems," he said, "but you've obeyed my
instructions not to come without definite news?"

"I have, sir."