A few miles farther on more elaborate monuments greeted their eager eyes, a Union general on horseback and a Union officer, booted and spurred, standing with field-glasses in hand, looking earnestly and inquiringly toward the west from which Elizabeth and Herbert had come. “The Confederates must have come by our house!” said Herbert. At the brow of the next hill they saw Gettysburg, spread before them. Beyond another rise they could see white marble shafts. To the right a tall building lifted its cupola above the trees of a thick grove. “This must be the Seminary,” said Elizabeth. “You remember there was a Seminary Ridge!” Old Joe traveled slowly down the leafy avenue and at the first house stopped of his own accord. He had been a huckster’s horse, a fact which accounted for various peculiarities. Elizabeth went into the yard and offered her wares to a lady on the porch. She had looked at Herbert hopefully, but he made no sign of intending to act as agent. “Good-morning. Do you need any vegetables?” “Why, yes,” answered the lady. “I shall be glad to have vegetables. Now that we have a curb market in the town, no one stops here.” “We have onions and peas and lettuce and radishes.” The lady came out to inspect the wares. “They’re fine! I’ll have some of each.” When the bargain was complete, Elizabeth, in friendly fashion, told who she was. The crisp bill in her hand was an earnest of future success. “Our grandfather was John Baring who lived in one of the old houses between here and Chambersburg. It stands a little back from the road on the first steep hill above Cashtown. Perhaps you’ve seen it?” The lady did not say. She looked curiously at Elizabeth. “We mean to live there and raise apples. We came early in the spring and planted our garden and it has grown splendidly. You are our first customer. When would you like another supply? The day after to-morrow?” The lady hesitated. Her expression had changed. Then she began to speak rapidly. “There is a curb market, you know. I don’t know whether you will find much business. Many people have their own gardens.” She seemed to realize the contradiction between her first enthusiasm and this deterring advice, for she no longer looked at Elizabeth. “Perhaps you had better try to sell your produce at Chambersburg.” Elizabeth was mystified and a little hurt. “Thank you,” said she as she climbed back into the wagon. She stopped at the next house and the next. At both, before she offered her wares she told her name and her grandfather’s name. She sold nothing, however, in spite of her friendliness. It could not be possible that her friendliness repelled these people! From the porch of one large house a kindly old gentleman walked to meet her, book in hand. “No, thank you,” he said before she had time to speak. “We have a garden. But you have fine-looking vegetables and I wish you luck.”