The morning was clear and frosty; and the scenery around the old farm-house was very fine. Nearest the house there was an old garden, in which a few late roses still bloomed, and a few fall vegetables grew. Farther on there were apple and peach orchards, but the trees were stripped of their fruit. Beyond these were old fields, studded here and there with monstrous forest trees. Around the whole was a circle of thick woods. And behind them arose the wall of mountains. When Justin Rosenthal went out upon the camp ground, in front of the house, he found the drums beating and the men mustering for the company drill. He saw Hay standing gazing upon the scene. His other orderly was nowhere to be seen. “Where is Wing?” inquired Justin. “I don’t know, sir; he walked away by himself. He never stops with me, or any of the boys, when he can help it,” answered Hay, touching his cap. Colonel Rosenthal nodded, and strolled on, followed by Hay. “So it appears that the great Major Monck cannot receive us this morning,” said Colonel Rosenthal, speaking more to himself than to his orderly. “No, sir! May I tell you why, sir?” briskly asked Hay. “Why, they say that he is indisposed.” “He is getting over a glorious old drunk, sir!” “Hay!” “Yes, he is, sir! The men are all saying it! I heard them muttering about it. They whisper that the ‘intoxified brute’—that’s what they called him—fuddled himself last night with the sutler’s brandy, and couldn’t lift his head from his pillow this morning, if it had been to save the camp.” “The men speak so of their leader, Hay?” “Yes, sir! in whisperings and mutterings! But you know how sharp my ears are, sir! and I used them and heard enough to feel sure that the great Monck’s band are what they call disinfected.” “Dis_af_fected, you mean, my boy.” “Well, sir, dis_af_fected, if that means that they have taken a misliking to their commander.” “It means something of the sort, if it is true, Hay,” said his colonel. They strolled on, and passed through a broken gate into the old garden, where they came upon Wing, standing among the bushes, and gazing in a meditative manner upon a bunch of pale, autumn roses he had just gathered. “A penny for your thoughts, my boy,” said Colonel Rosenthal, kindly. “They are not worth the penny, sir. I was only thinking of these pale roses trying to bloom in the frosty air; how like they are to human hopes trying still to keep alive in the midst of cold and killing disappointment and despair.” “The roses will bloom again in spring, and hope revive again in heaven, Wing,” said Colonel Rosenthal, laying his hand kindly on the boy’s head. After that the three strolled on together for a while and then separated, each going his own way. At noon Colonel Rosenthal, according to his promise, returned to the house, to report himself. He went straight to his quarters, where he found Wing and Hay also waiting; and where they were soon after joined by Captain Bannister.