Above the tent, below it, all about it, from Warrenton to Turkey Run, was encamped Meade’s great army. There were seasoned veterans, raw volunteers, conscript regiments, all accepting and enduring with philosophic fortitude the hardships and vicissitudes of army life. Here and there camp-fires had been lighted, here and there a belated meal was being eaten. It was an hour for rest and relaxation from the stern duties of war, only the picket force being thrown to the front in triplicate lines, to protect the army from surprise. Bob Bannister looked well in his suit of army blue. He bore himself with soldier-like precision, and a dignity befitting his occupation. Young, enthusiastic, good-natured, intensely patriotic, he had at once become a favorite with the men of his company. His every duty, performed with intelligence and alacrity, marked him in the eyes of the officers as one destined to promotion. As he sat there in the twilight, still studying his book, an orderly approached him and inquired:-- “Are you private Bannister?” “That is my name.” “You are wanted at company headquarters.” Wondering what it could mean, private Bannister laid aside his book and went with the orderly up the company street to the captain’s quarters. Inside the tent a candle was burning on a rude table by which the captain was seated. Standing about, against the inner walls, were a half-dozen men whose faces the boy could not recognize in the semi-darkness. Bob advanced to within a few paces of the table, saluted, and stood at attention. “Private Bannister,” said the captain, “I want to know if you recognize this person?” He nodded, as he spoke, toward a man dressed in civilian costume, standing near the entrance to the tent. Bob turned and peered into the shadows. The man stepped forward. “Father!” “Rob!” And then Bob rushed into his father’s arms. For a moment no one spoke. But the soldiers who saw the meeting never forgot it. “Father, what does it mean?” [Illustration: “FATHER, WHAT DOES IT MEAN?”] Bannister, his voice lost in emotion and his eyes dim with tears, pointed to a paper lying on the captain’s table. He had tried to imagine how Bob would look in uniform, but he had not thought to see quite so straight, manly a figure, clear of eye, handsome of countenance, “every inch a soldier.” And the words of Mary Bannister, when he read Bob’s letter to her, came back into his mind and voiced his sentiment: “I’m proud of him. He’s the bravest boy in the world.” “Private Bannister,” said the captain, “your father is here in custody of Lieutenant Forsythe of the regular army, who brings with him this letter.” The captain then read impressively, with a sense of its true importance, the President’s letter to General Meade. When he reached the end and read the name “A. Lincoln,” every man in the tent lifted his cap reverently from his head.