derided him because he was engaged upon a task that was usually
performed by women. The Army of Northern Virginia did its own sewing.

"Will the seam show much, Arthur?" asked Harry Kenton, who lay
luxuriously upon the leafy ground beside the log.

"Very little when I finish," replied St. Clair, examining his work with
a critical eye. "Of course I can't pass the uniform off as wholly new.
It's been a long time since I've seen a new one in our army, but it will
be a lot above the average."

"I admire your care of your clothes, Arthur, even if I can't quite
imitate it. I've concluded that good clothes give a certain amount of
moral courage, and if you get killed you make a much more decent body."

"But Arthur St. Clair, of Charleston, sir, has no intention of getting
killed," said Happy Tom Langdon, who was also resting upon the earth.
"He means after this war is over to go back to his native city, buy the
most magnificent uniforms that were ever made, and tell the girls how
Lee and Jackson turned to him for advice at the crisis of every great
battle."

"We surely needed wisdom and everything else we could get at Antietam--
leadership, tenacity and the willingness to die," said Dalton, the sober
young Virginia Presbyterian. "Boys, we were in the deepest of holes
there, and we had to lift ourselves out almost by our own boot straps."

Harry's face clouded. The field of Antietam often returned to him,
almost as real and vivid as on that terrible day, when the dead lay
heaped in masses around the Dunkard church and the Southern army called