So Ralph was given his papers, and after writing his mother a few lines, saying that he was quite sick, lest his sudden coming should alarm her, he was sent home by the same route by which he came. It was a painful journey, not alone from his physical suffering, but his heart bled as he noted the ruin that had been wrought in the land--the deserted houses, the neglected fields, miserable-looking people, mostly women and children, whose woe-begone faces told of the privations they were daily enduring, uncomplainingly. The {158}contrast between the early days of the war and the present was bitter, and he felt how terribly real that war was to these people. Their farms had been overrun by the tramping of two armies, and each had equally despoiled them of their possessions--both were alike unmindful and indifferent to their sorrow. But brighter thoughts succeeded these gloomy musings, as he drew nearer to his home, and already saw his beloved mother's sweet face, and felt her warm kiss upon his cheek. But even in the Western country, as the train stopped at the various stations, he noted careworn faces, and anxious glances, as the murmured “God bless you!” was sent after the boys in blue. There were several soldiers on the train, some going home on furlough, and some on the same errand as Ralph--going home to recuperate, or, perchance, to die. When Ralph reached Chicago, he was glad to lie down on one of the benches in the depot. He found he had to wait three hours for the train that would convey him to his prairie home. The rest was welcome, and after a nap, and a strong cup of coffee, he felt a little better; so much so that he thought he would take a short walk of a block or so. The city was, so to speak, in holiday attire. The streets were teeming with an excited yet happy-looking people, and an unusual bustle pervaded them. He wondered why every one was crowding to the edge of the sidewalks, and as he was about to ask a bystander, he heard the tramp of many feet. How familiar the sound of the steps was to his ear. The boys in blue were coming, he thought, and again a wave of wounded pride came over him, as he realized that he was shut out from the ranks, by reason of an illness which he could not understand or conquer. {159} [Illustration: 0168] But no--these were not his comrades, he saw, as he looked curiously at the long procession filing past him, closely guarded by the boys in blue, who kept step, while the men they hurried along were the subjects of ridicule from the thoughtless crowd. They were prisoners--these {160}men, some clad in the well-known gray, some wearing butternut suits, some of them without coats or hats, their pants frayed and torn clear up to the knees. Here would proudly march a clean-shaven, erect young fellow, with a suit of gray, scarcely soiled, while at his side a mere shadow of a man, ragged and dirty, would shamble along, barefooted and wild-eyed.