“Really, Elfie,” said Erminie, “one would think that yesterday you had been in an agony of suspense lest some favorite brother or friend should be drafted, and that to-day you are in an ecstacy of joy on perceiving that he has escaped. What ails you dear?” “Never mind, you’ll soon see. ‘We are coming, Father Abraham, _Five_ hundred thousand more,’” replied Elfie, singing and dancing out of the room. In two or three days they _did_ know. It was one morning after breakfast. Major Fielding had walked out for the first time since he was wounded. Miss Conyers had just dropped in for a morning call. Erminie, Elfie, Britomarte and Lieutenant Ethel were assembled in the drawing-room, discussing the one great topic of the day, the very last battle, when there came a ring at the bell, followed by the entrance of Uncle Bob, bringing a large, formidable-looking letter, and gazing around in perplexity, as doubting to whom to deliver it. “Penny pos’, Miss,” he said at length, appealing to the young mistress of the house. But Elfie sprang up and darted past every one, and seized the letter, exclaiming: “It is for me!” “For _you_, Elfie? _That_ letter!” said Erminie, in incredulous surprise. “Yes; if you doubt it look at it!” replied Elfie, triumphantly, turning the back of the letter to the whole group, so that each one could read its superscription. It was a long, large, yellow envelope, bearing on its upper-right-hand corner the words: PROVOST MARSHAL’S OFFICE. _Official Business._ Directed to Sydney Fielding. And exclamations of wonder broke from all present. “It cannot be for you, Elfie. It is from the Provost Marshal’s office, and on official business. You can have no official business with the Provost Marshal, my dear,” said Erminie. “Can’t I?” mocked Elfie. “But what business _can_ you have?” “You’ll hear presently— ‘We are coming! we are coming! our Union to restore——’” “Elfie, dear, _do_ stop singing, and be reasonable. This letter is directed to Sydney Fielding. There must be a mistake. Sydney Fielding!” “Well, what is _my_ name? Isn’t it Elfrida Sydney Fielding!” “Yes; but——” “Just so. The Elfrida’s left out. I had it left out on purpose. Not that I intend to claim exemption on that account, like the poltroon Jonson, who tried to get off on the ground that the enrolling officer had spelt his name wrong, naturally writing it ‘Johnson.’ This summons is directed to Sydney Fielding, which means me, Elfrida Sydney Fielding, since there is no other Sydney Fielding in existence, and I shall respond to it.” “Summons! Enrolling officer! Whatever do you mean, Elfie?” inquired Erminie, in growing amazement, which was fully shared by young Ethel. As for Britomarte, she seemed to know, or guess, the meaning of the whole affair. “Wait a minute!” said Elfie, breaking the broad seal, and reading the letter, which was half print and half manuscript. Her companions watched her impatiently.