“Tell his mother that he does not bear prison confinement well, and she would hardly know her boy. He is very popular among his fellow prisoners, and does more good, I verily believe, than half our army chaplains. One poor fellow, who died the other day, blessed Isaac Simms as the means of leading him to Heaven.” “Oh, I’m so glad he’s there, ain’t you?” and the tears shone in Rose’s eyes as she involuntarily paid this tribute to Christianity. “On some accounts I am, and then again I ain’t,” was the widow’s reply, as she wiped the moisture from her glasses and returned them to her pocket. “I’m glad he’s doing good, but I don’t want him sick there alone, without his mother. It’s hard to see why these things are so, but that’s nothin’ to do with the goin’ to Washington. Will you take me, Mrs. Marthers? I know I’m homespun and ignorant, but you may call me waitin maid, or anything you like, if you’ll only take me.” The widow’s voice was full of entreaty, and Rose could not resist it. It would be _grander_, she thought, to have a woman from Boston, but then Mrs. Simms wanted to go so badly, while Annie, too, preferred her, she was sure. So it was settled that as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made, Mrs. Simms, Annie and Rose were to start for the Federal Capital. Had the care of an entire regiment devolved upon Rose, she could not have been busier or have felt a greater responsibility than she did in planning and arranging the journey, and between times trying to initiate Widow Simms into the mysteries of travelling, telling her not to be frightened and think they’d run off the track each time the whistle blew,—not to show undue anxiety about her baggage, as she—Rose—should hold the checks, little brass pieces, which they would get at the depot,—not to bother the conductor by asking questions, or let the people know that she had never been further in the cars than Rochester. To all these directions the widow gravely promised compliance, saying, in an aside to Annie, “It does me good to see the little critter patternize me, as if she s’posed I was a tarnal fool, and didn’t know a steam _locofoco_ from a canal boat.” The day before the one appointed for the commencement of the journey came at last. Rose’s three trunks, of the size which makes the porters _swear_, were packed to their utmost capacity, for Rose meant to make a winter’s campaign, and display her numerous dresses at parties and levees. So everything which she could possibly and impossibly need, even to her skating dress, was stowed away in the huge boxes, together with various luxuries for her husband and George, and then, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, she started for the cottage in the Hollow, to see that everything there was in readiness.