In the afternoon the Sixty-fifth came to the town of Greencastle. It looked a thriving place, and it had shops and stores filled with the most beautiful and tempting goods. Back home, the goods were all gone from the stores, the old stock assimilated and the new never appearing. The shop windows of Greencastle looked like fairyland, a hundred Christmases all in one. “Look-a-there! Look at that ironware!”—“Look at them shirts and suspenders! Coloured handkerchiefs.”—“Fancy soap and cologne and toothbrushes!”—“I wish I might send Sally that pink calico and some ribbons, and a hoop.”—“Look at that plough—that’s something new!”—“Figured velvet waistcoats.”—“Lord have mercy! this is the sinfullest town of plutocrats!”—“Try them with Confederate money.“—“Sure Old Dick said we mightn’t take just a little?”—“Oh, me! oh, me! there’s a shoe-store and a hat-store and a drug-store.”—“Say, Mr. Storekeeper, would you take for that pair of shoes a brand-new fifty-dollar Richmond Virginia bank note with George Washington and a train of cars on it?”—“He won’t sell. This gilded town’s got so much money it doesn’t want any more—tired of money.”—“Disgusting Vanity Fair kind of a place! Glad the colonel isn’t going to halt us!”—_Don’t straggle, men!_—“No, sir; we aren’t!” Camp was clean beyond Greencastle—a lovely camp quite removed from Vanity Fair. Apparently the quartermasters had been able to buy. There was coffee for supper, real coffee, real sugar; there were light biscuits and butter and roast lamb. A crystal stream purled through the meadows; upon the hilltops wheat, partly shocked, stood against the rosy sky. The evening was cool and sweet and the camp-fires for a long way, up and down and on either side the road, burned with a steady flame. The men lay upon the earth like dusty acorns shaken from invisible branches. At the foot of the hills the battery and wagon horses cropped the sweet grass. The good horses!—their ribs did not show as they did on the Virginia side of the Potomac. They were faring well in Pennsylvania. Rank and file, men and horses, guns and wagon train, the Second Corps, Rodes and Jubal Early and “Alleghany” Johnson, and “Dear Dick Ewell” at the head,—the Second Corps was in spirits. To-night it was as buoyant as a cork or a rubber ball. Where there were bands the bands played, played the sprightliest airs in their repertory. Harry Hays’s Creoles danced, leaping like fauns in the dying sunset and the firelight, in a trodden space beneath beech trees. The next morning Rodes and Johnson pursued the road to Chambersburg, but Early’s division took the Gettysburg and York road, having orders to cut the Northern Central Railroad running from Baltimore to Harrisburg, and to destroy the bridge across the Susquehanna at Wrightsville and rejoin at Carlisle. Ahead went Gordon’s Georgia brigade and White’s battalion of cavalry.