many boys, too, like himself, from every state north of the Ohio River
and from some south of it. Dan Whitley met old logging friends from
Wisconsin whom he had not seen in years, and George Warner saw two
pupils of his as old as himself.

Dick had inherited a sensitive temperament, one that responded quickly
and truthfully to the events occurring about him, and he foresaw the
beginning of a mighty struggle. Here in the capital, resolution was
hardening into a fight to the finish, and he knew from his relatives
when he left Kentucky that the South was equally determined. There was
an apparent pause in hostilities, but he felt that the two sections were
merely gathering their forces for a mightier conflict.

His comrades and he had little to do, and they had frequent leaves of
absence. On one of them they saw a man of imposing appearance pass down
Pennsylvania Avenue. He would have caught the attention of anybody,
owing to his great height and splendid head crowned with snow-white
hair. He was old, but he walked as if he were one who had achieved
greatly, and was conscious of it.

"It's Old Fuss and Feathers his very self," said Whitley.

"General Scott. It can be no other," said Dick, who had divined at once
the man's identity. His eyes followed the retreating figure with the
greatest interest. This was the young hero of the War of 1812 and the
great commander who had carried the brilliant campaign into the capital
of Mexico. He had been the first commander-in-chief of the Northern
army, and, foreseeing the great scale of the coming war, had prepared
a wide and cautious plan. But the public had sneered at him and had
demanded instant action, the defeat at Bull Run being the result.