“ANNIE GRAHAM.” Rose had not wept more passionately than she did now, as she kissed the note, and wished she were one half as good as Annie Graham. “But I am not,” she said, “and never shall be. Tell her to keep praying until Will comes home again.” “I will tell her,” returned the widow, “but wouldn’t it be well enough to try what you can do at it yourself, and not leave it all for her?” “Try what I can do at praying?” Rose exclaimed. “I can’t do anything, only the few words I always say at night, and they have nothing in them about Will.” “Brought up like a heathen!” muttered the widow, feeling within herself that to the names of her own sons and Captain Carleton, William Mather’s must now be added, when, as was her daily custom, she took her troubles to One who has said, “Cast your burdens upon the Lord, for He careth for you.” “We’ll both remember your husband, Miss Graham and I, so don’t fret yourself to death,” she said, soothingly, as Rose broke into a fresh burst of tears. “It isn’t him so much,” Rose sobbed, “though that is terrible and will kill me, I most know, but there’s something else that ails me a great deal worse than that; at least, mother has made me think it is, though I can’t quite see how having one’s brother join the Rebel army is so very bad.” Rose forgot her promise of secrecy, just as her mother might have known she would. The story of the Carleton disgrace was told, and perfectly aghast, the horrified widow listened to it. “Your brother a rebel?” she almost shrieked, “a good-for-nothing, ill-begotten rebel! I thought you said he was a captain of a company;” and mentally the widow struck from her list of names that of poor, scandalized Tom, that very moment perspiring at every pore as he went through with his evening drill within the Federal camp. “No, no,” Rose cried, vehemently, “not Tom; I have another brother, a younger one,—Jimmie we call him. Did you never hear of Jimmie, who ran away more than a year ago?” “Never!” and the staunch patriot of a widow pursed up her thin lips with an expression which plainly said the Carleton family had fallen greatly in her estimation, in spite of all Tom had said of Isaac. Rose, however, was not good at reading expressions, and taking it for granted the widow wanted to hear all about it, she told her what she knew, marvelling much at the rigid silence her auditor maintained. “Isn’t it shameful?” she asked, when she had finished.