Bobbie and Dorothy were silent for a long time, down under the old wishing-tree, for neither could trust themselves to speak of the things nearest their hearts, but after awhile Bobbie began to talk of the orders received the day before. “If it were not for leaving you and mother,” he said, “if it weren’t for that continual nightmare hanging over me, I think I should enjoy going more than anything on earth. We have talked, and argued, and discussed all this so long that I am glad the time has come to fight it out; it is the only way to settle it, and the sooner begun the sooner ended.” Dorothy answered slowly, and after a long pause: “Yes, I know it is the only way to settle it, but it is a horrible price that must be paid for the final decision. Ah, I understand how you feel, but you are going into it, into the danger, into work, into action—and—I know—into death, too, perhaps,” and her voice shook a little, “but it is so much harder for us—we who have to stay here—who must sit day after day—waiting to hear. Of course, I can knit socks, and tear strips, and make bandages to send to the city; but what can I do to make myself forget for one single moment that you may be needing me—or father?”—and she broke down in a genuine sob, and then in a minute she slipped away from him. “You will think me a coward—and I know I am not that—see, I have brought you something—you must keep it, and read it, and be the man it can make you,” and she put in his hands a tiny pocket Testament, on the inside of which she had pasted a small picture of herself. “That will be my talisman,” he said, kissing it reverently, and putting it in his inner pocket, “and will keep me from harm, please God.” They talked until the night grew late and chill, and then he put his arms around her for a last good-bye. The winds shivered in the tops of the trees, and the whip-poor-wills ’way down by the brook were calling plaintively to each other, and the moon slipped under a cloud, and only the stars looked down and saw the sorrow that filled their brave young hearts. They were gone, and Dorothy and Bobbie’s mother turned from the porch, from which they had watched as long as possible, and went inside, not daring to speak, lest all the long-controlled feeling they had been struggling to conceal should reveal itself at last. They took up their new life courageously, and the influence of each was great, both in the home and in the neighborhood; but it was not long before trouble began to appear among the servants, and, as time went on, greater and greater discontent became evident. It was not until news of the first battle reached them that the horror of it all made itself felt in full force to Dorothy. She had heard that a battle must take place soon; and when Bobbie’s letter came, telling her he hoped and prayed his regiment would have the honor of being allowed to go into the first fight, her heart sank in miserable misgivings.