"Make a memorandum, Fitz, to have me send for a bridge engineer fust
thing after I get to my office in the mornin'. There will be some
difficulty in gettin' a proper foundation for the centre-pier of that
bridge, and some one should be sent at once to make a survey. We can't
be delayed at this point a day. And, Fitz, while I think of it, there
should be a wagon bridge at or near this iron structure, and the timber
might as well be gotten out now. It will facilitate haulin' supplies
into Fairfax city."

Fitz thought so too, and made a second memorandum to that effect,
recording the suggestion very much as a private secretary would an
order from his railroad magnate.

The colonel gave this last order with coat thrown open,--thumbs in his
vest,--back to the fire,--an attitude never indulged in except on
rare occasions, and then only when the very weight of the problem
necessitated a corresponding bracing up, and more breathing room.

These attitudes, by the way, were very suggestive of the colonel's
varying moods. Sometimes, when he came home, tired out with the hard
pavements of the city, so different from the soft earth of his native
roads, I would find him bunched up in his chair in the twilight; face
in hands, elbows on knees, crooning over the fire, the silver streaks
in his hair glistening in the flickering firelight, building castles
in the glowing coals,--the old manor house restored and the barns
rebuilt, the gates rehung, the old quarters repaired, the little negroes
again around the doors; and he once more catching the sound of the
yellow-painted coach on the gravel, with Chad helping the dear old
aunt down the porch steps. This, deep down in the bottom of his soul,