regular curve, not looking here and now there, but taking his time and
missing nothing. It occurred to Dick that he was a type of his region,
slow but thorough, and sure to win after defeat.

"What's the result of your examination?" asked Dick as Warner passed the
glasses in turn to Pennington.

"Let x equal what I saw, which is nothing. Let y equal the result I draw,
which is nothing. Hence we have x + y which still equals nothing."

Pennington was swifter in his examination. The blood in his veins flowed
a little faster than Warner's.

"I find nothing but land and water," he said without waiting to be asked,
"and I'm disappointed. I had a hope, Dick, that I'd see Stonewall
Jackson himself riding along a slope."

"Even if you saw him, how would you know it was Stonewall?"

"I hadn't thought of that. We've heard so much of him that it just
seemed to me I'd know him anywhere."

"Same here," said Warner. "Remember all the tales we've heard about his
whiskers, his old slouch hat and his sorrel horse."

"I'd like to see him myself," confessed Dick. "From all we hear he's the
man who kept McClellan from taking Richmond. He certainly played hob
with the plans of our generals. You know, I've got a cousin, Harry
Kenton, with him. I had a letter from him a week ago--passing through
the lines, and coming in a round-about way. Writes as if he thought