recall it when she read the letter Eli or John would send, bearing the fatal line, “Mother, poor Isaac is dead.” He knew they would call him “poor Isaac,” for though they sometimes teased him as his “mother’s great girl baby,” they petted him quite as much as she, only in a different way, and he felt now that both would step between him and the bullet they thought would harm him. Eli would any way, but John, perhaps, would hesitate, as he now loved Susan best. Isaac was proud of his brothers, and he glanced admiringly at them as they marched side by side, keeping even step just as they did down Main street, with his mother and Susan looking on. One now was thinking of Susan, and one of his widowed mother. Close by Isaac walked Bill, quiet and subdued. He had not prayed that morning,—he never prayed; but when he saw Isaac kneeling on his blanket he had said to him, “Manage to get in a word or two for me and Hal; we need it, mercy knows.” And surely if ever poor mortal needed prayer it was _Hal_, as his brother styled him. Half stupefied with the vile liquor he had constantly managed to get, he trudged on, boasting of what he could do; “only give him a chance and he’d lick the entire Secession army. He’d like to see the ball that could kill him; he was good at dodging; he’d show’em a thing or two in the way of fight; he’d take the tuck out of the Southern gentlemen,—yes, he would,” and so he went thoughtlessly boasting on to death! * * * * * Will Mather was not there. Indisposition had detained him at Washington, and with a hearty God speed he had sent his comrades on their way, lamenting that he, too, could not join them, and bidding his brother-in-law do some fighting for him. * * * * *