His father sat at the supper-table that evening with apparent unconcern. He knew that there were no provost-guards in the neighborhood, no one with authority to arrest or imprison him. For while it was true that, in a sense, he was isolated in the midst of an intensely patriotic community, he was, nevertheless, in more or less constant communication with friends and sympathizers who kept him well informed as to the dangers which surrounded or approached him. On this night he knew, for instance, that Sergeant Anderson, with his little squad of soldiers, had returned to Easton, and that no other detail of troops had as yet come into the county. He knew also that means would be found to warn him of the approach of an enemy long before that enemy could reach him. So he ate his supper with his family in peace, and sat quietly at his table reading his paper without apprehension of danger when Bob started to go upstairs to bed. “Good-by, father!” said the boy, standing at the stair-door with his lamp in his hand. “Good-_by_,” repeated his father, “what do you mean by that?” “Did I say good-by? I meant to say good-night. But you know I never go to bed at night any more, father, without thinking that something may happen before morning to separate us--forever.” His lip trembled a little as he spoke, and he still stood, hesitating, at the stair-door. “Well, Robert, nothing will happen to-night, I know. You can go to bed without fear to-night. To-morrow, maybe, danger will come again, we cannot tell. But to-night, I believe we are safe.” He saw that, for some reason, the boy’s emotions were deeply stirred, and he imagined it was due to a suddenly augmented fear of what might happen to his father. “You don’t know anything, do you, Bob?” he inquired suddenly. “You haven’t heard of danger immediately at hand? Did Seth Mills tell you anything that would lead you to think--?” “No, father, oh no! I was just--well, I won’t worry about you to-night, anyway. But if anything _should_ happen that we don’t see each other again--for a good while--I’d like to have you think that while I believe in Abraham Lincoln, and in the Union, and in the war, I believe in you, too, and I wouldn’t want, ever, to do anything that would seem to be disloyal to you.” “No, Bob, of course not. I believe that. I’m sorry these Northern notions of patriotism have entered so deeply into your mind. But, when you’re older and understand things better, you’ll think differently. There, go along to bed, now. You’re tired and nervous to-night. In the morning you’ll feel better.” He held out his hand and Bob came over and clasped it tightly. “Good-night, father!” “Good-night!”