"So little could make them happy, and yet I cannot seem to obtain even that little," she sighed. "I fear--indeed, I fear--I cannot be with them another Christmas; therefore they shall remember that I tried to make them happy once more, and the recollection may survive the long sad days before them, and become a part of my memory." The room was now growing dark, and she lighted the lamp. Then she cowered shiveringly over the reviving fire, feeling as if she could never be warm again. The street-lamps were lighted early on that clouded, stormy evening, and they were a signal to Mr. Jackson, the agent, to leave his office. He remembered that he had ordered a holiday dinner, and now found himself in a mood to enjoy it. He had scarcely left his door before a man, coming up the street with great strides and head bent down to the snow-laden blast, brushed roughly against him. The stranger's cap was drawn over his eyes, and the raised collar of his blue army overcoat nearly concealed his face. The man hurriedly begged pardon, and was hastening on when Mr. Jackson's exclamation of surprise caused him to stop and look at the person he had jostled. "Why, Mr. Marlow," the agent began, "I'm glad to see you. It's a pleasure I feared I should never have again." "My wife," the man almost gasped, "she's still in the house I rented of you?" "Oh, certainly," was the hasty reply. "It'll be all right' now." "What do you mean? Has it not been all right?" "Well, you see," said Mr. Jackson, apologetically, "we have been very lenient to your wife, but the rent has not been paid for over two months, and--" "And you were about to turn her and her children out-of-doors in midwinter," broke in the soldier, wrathfully. "That is the way you sleek, comfortable stay-at-home people care for those fighting your battles. After you concluded that I was dead, and that the rent might not be forthcoming, you decided to put my wife into the street. Open your office, sir, and you shall have your rent." "Now, Mr. Marlow, there's no cause for pitching into me in this way. You know that I am but an agent, and--" "Tell your rich employer, then, what I have said, and ask him what he would be worth to-day were there not men like myself, who are willing to risk everything and suffer everything for the Union. But I've no time to bandy words. Have you seen my wife lately?" "Yes," was the hesitating reply; "she was here to-day, and I--" "How is she? What did you say to her?" "Well, she doesn't look very strong. I felt sorry for her, and gave her more time, taking the responsibility myself--" "How much time?" "I said two weeks, but no doubt I could have had the time extended."