For some time Aunt Sally, Bob, Dick, Jeanne and Mr. Huntsworth, and the servants had been living in the commodious cave prepared for them. The girls no longer sewed or walked about. They were content if they could keep out of range of the shells. Once every day some one of them ran the gauntlet of shells to buy the meat and milk. Mule meat was the staple article of diet, but this Bob and Jeanne utterly refused to touch and confined themselves to rice and milk. "It is not at all bad," declared Mr. Huntsworth as he sat at the door of the cave one evening a piece of the meat in his hand. "Come here, girls, and let me show you the difference in the shells. There goes a Parrott. That's a mortar shell that curls so beautifully down yon hillside. This"--as he dodged back into the cave to escape one--"is a rifle shell." "I don't see what difference it makes," said Bob retreating to the back of the cave, "what kind of a shell it is if it kills you. Do you, Jeanne?" "I think not," answered Jeanne tremblingly. "What a fearful thing war is! Oh!" A shell fell just without the mouth of the cavern like a flame of fire, making the earth tremble, and with a low, singing sound the fragments sped on in their work of death. "We seem to be within range this evening," said Mr. Huntsworth as he came to where the trembling girls crouched. Shell after shell followed each other in quick succession, and our little party stood without speaking, awaiting the sudden death that seemed almost certain. Jeanne's heart stood still as she heard the reports from the guns and the rushing fearful sound as the shells came toward them. As the shells neared the cave the noise became more deafening; the air was full of the rushing sound; pains darted through her temples; her ears were full of the confusing noise; and, as one would explode, the report flashed through her head like an electric shock, leaving her in a state of terror, painful to be imagined. The rest of the occupants of the cavern were not much better off. After this paroxysm of fear passed they strove for composure only to be again overcome as the fusillade was repeated. Morning found them more dead than alive, with blanched faces and trembling lips, but as the time passed and they were still preserved, although the shells came as fast as ever, they took courage and at last regained a measure of calmness. There was not much mental rest for the people of Vicksburg, and added to Jeanne's apprehensions for their safety was the anxiety over Dick. The lad had grown as strong as was possible considering the scarcity of nourishing food and, as the shelling grew worse, a sort of restlessness seized upon him and he would stand without the entrance of the cave careless of the shells falling about him, watching their progress intently. "I am afraid that he will be killed," said Jeanne tearfully to Bob. "Why does he do it, Bob?" "Mr. Huntsworth says that it is because he is a soldier," said Bob.