insecure to step on. This young soldier knew the optical illusions
produced by tears. He felt them on his cheek, and saw them sparkle
on the breast of his trooper's jacket. He left the house and made
his way back to camp.

The next day, with no very definite intention, with no dominant
feeling that he could rightly have named, he again sought the spot.
Within a half-mile of it he met Bushrod Albro, a former playfellow
and schoolmate, who greeted him warmly.

"I am going to visit my home," said the soldier.

The other looked at him rather sharply, but said nothing.

"I know," continued Lassiter, "that my folks have not changed, but--
"

"There have been changes," Albro interrupted--"everything changes.
I'll go with you if you don't mind. We can talk as we go."

But Albro did not talk.

Instead of a house they found only fire-blackened foundations of
stone, enclosing an area of compact ashes pitted by rains.

Lassiter's astonishment was extreme.

"I could not find the right way to tell you," said Albro. "In the
fight a year ago your house was burned by a Federal shell."