house brought home to him the terrible nature of war. It meant
destruction, wounds and death, and they were all the worse because it was
a nation divided against itself, people of the same blood and the same
traditions fighting one another.

But youth cannot stay gloomy long, and his spirits presently flowed back.
There was too much tang and life in that crisp wind from the west for his
body to droop, and a lad could not be sad long, with brilliant sunshine
around him and that shining little river before him.

The thrill of high adventure shot up from his soul. He had ceased to
hate the Northern soldiers, if he had ever hated them at all. Now they
were merely brave opponents, with whom he contended, and success demanded
of either skill, daring and energy to the utmost degree. He was resolved
not to fail in any of these qualities.

He left the desolate house a mile behind, and then the river curved a
little. The woods on the farther shore came down in dense masses to the
edge of the stream, and despite the lack of foliage Harry could not see
far into them. The strong, inherited instincts leaped up. His nostrils
expanded and a warning note was sounded somewhere in the back of his
brain.

He turned his horse to the left and entered the forest on his own side
of the river. They were ancient trees that he rode among, with many
drooping and twisted boughs, and he was concealed well, although he could
yet see from his covert the river and the forest on the other shore.

The song of a trumpet suddenly came from the deep woodland across the
shining stream. It was a musical song, mellow and triumphant on every