“Yes, I will help you,” she said. “But about the letter? You will have to hurry. I am sure your mother will be here in a short time.” “Well, that letter is mighty important, you know. Everything depends upon it, much more than on mother’s letter, I am sure.” “I should think so,” said the girl. She drew a chair up to the table and sat down by the side of the boy. “I am just going to give it to him strong,” said Wilfred. “That’s the way to give it to him,” said Caroline. “He’s a soldier and he’s accustomed to such things.” “You can’t fool much with father. He means business,” said Wilfred; “but he will find that I mean business, too.” “That’s right,” assented Caroline sapiently, “everybody has got to mean business now. What did you say to him?” “I said this,” answered the youngster, reading slowly and with great pride, “‘General Ransom Varney, Commanding Division, Army of Northern Virginia, Dear Papa’——” “I wouldn’t say ‘dear papa’ to a General,” interrupted Caroline decisively. “No? What would you say?” “I would say ‘Sir,’ of course; that is much more businesslike and soldiers are always so awfully abrupt.” “You are right,” said the boy, beginning again, “‘General Ransom Varney, Commanding Division, Army of Northern Virginia, Sir’—that sounds fine, doesn’t it?” “Splendid,” said the girl, “go on.” “‘This is to notify you that I want you to let me join the Army right now. If you don’t, I will enlist anyway, that’s all. The seventeen call is out and I am not going to wait for the sixteen. Do you think I am a damned coward’——” Wilfred paused and looked apprehensively at Caroline, who nodded with eyes sparkling brightly. “That’s fine,” she said. “I thought it sounded like a soldier.” “It does; you ought to have heard the Third Virginia swear——” “Oh,” said Wilfred, who did not quite relish that experience; but he went on after a little pause. “‘Tom Kittridge has gone; he was killed yesterday at Cold Harbor. Billie Fisher has gone and so has Cousin Stephen. He is not sixteen, he lied about his age, but I don’t want to do that unless you make me. I will, though, if you do. Answer this right now or not at all.’” “I think that is the finest letter I have ever heard,” said Caroline proudly, as Wilfred stopped, laid the paper down, and stared at her. “Do you really think so?” “It is the best letter I——” “I am glad you are pleased with it. Now the next thing is how to end it.” “Why, just end it.” “But how?” “Sign your name, of course.” “Nothing else?” “What else is there?” “Just Wilfred?” “No, Wilfred Varney.” “That’s the thing.” He took up a pen from the table and scrawled his name at the bottom of this interesting and historical document. “And you think the rest of it will do?” “I should think it would,” she assented heartily. “I wish your father had it now.” “So do I,” said Wilfred. “Maybe it will take two or three days to get it to him and I just can’t wait that long.”